


motel 6

by tobylove



Series: strength in sevens [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dorks in Love, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, I’m sorry, M/M, References to Drugs, Running Away, imma try to make this as sweet as I can, they’re all college aged I mean, you know how I do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2020-02-29 06:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobylove/pseuds/tobylove
Summary: Eddie runs away from home—and his abusive, overbearing mother—and meets a mysterious, eccentric, rock n’ roll boy.Maybe they’re both running away from something.





	1. 505

**Author's Note:**

> if I could stick to a fix that’d be gr8
> 
> ahh i got inspiration to write this bc i’m exited for it chapter 2 to come out!! 
> 
> i’m going w the flow as usual, kinda making things up halfway as i go, so i hope y’all like it!!

The moon never seemed so bright.

It was something that Eddie sought out for—he wishes that he could jump up and grab it and swing from it by its craters, but hang on nevertheless. It reminds him of teenage things—of having friends and house parties; of things that sound bad but he was never allowed to do. The moon looks so full and free. And he wants to run towards it.

Ma had taken it too far tonight. All Eddie had wanted to do was talk on the phone with Maria. And tonight, all Maria wanted to do was gossip. But Eddie entertained her; they _were_ best friends, after all. And even though there were a couple of things that they just let fall through the conversational cracks when Eddie was at home, Maria decided that tonight, she couldn’t let those things go.

“You know Juanito was staring at you all day,” she said, and Eddie could hear the smirk in her voice.

(wait... he _was?_ )

“He _definitely_ was,” she said, almost if she could read his mind; almost as if they were on the same wave-length. “So Eddie Kaspbrak, what are you going to do if he asks you out?”

“I mean—say yes, _obviously,_ ” he said. And he laughed about it, and she laughed about it, and he thought that was that.

It was only until a couple of hours later, almost ten o’clock (he needed to sleep; he had an 8 AM tomorrow) when he had his headphones in and was between the barrier of awake and in a dream-state, that Ma barged into his room... and so _rudely_ ripped his headphones out.

 _“Ma!”_ He had yelled, more out of surprise than anything. He even had gotten out of his bed. “What’s wrong? Why did you _do_ that for?”

“What’s _wrong,_ Eddie? _What’s wrong?_ ” She was in absolute hysterics

(what’s new?).

“What’s _wrong_ is that I heard you talking to that little slut. And I don’t like what she’s influencing you to do!”

“Stop it, Ma. Jesus.”

Ma laughed. She closed the gap in between them so that they looked eye-to-eye. “I don’t like it, Eddie. I know what she’s trying to do. I don’t like it. And I don’t like that you’re too _weak_ to take a stand to it.”

“Ma, st... what are you _talking_ about?”

 _“Don’t play dumb with me!”_ Her lip quivered. “I know she’s trying to make you a queer!”

That had stopped Eddie in his tracks

(did my own Ma just call me a _queer?_ ).

He had always had attraction to boys, ever since he was a little boy, and he felt safe around feminine energy—the few close friends he had were girls. But he wanted to feel at home with a boy—to hold his hand, to kiss him, to play his hair. And he thought that if he got straight A’s and had “masculine” hobbies and let Ma give him the Gypsy Rose treatment that she would be okay with that. That all of that would be enough.

_(why is it not enough?)_

He even tried to laugh it off; put his hands up in front of him as a form of surrender. “Okay Ma, you caught me. I’m gay. But I was scared to tell you because I knew you’d react like this. I just thought I—”

She slapped him

(she _slapped_ me?)

hard across the face. 

He didn’t even process what she said after that, her _“how could you”_ and a slew of slurs—he just silently grabbed his phone from off the bed, pushed right past her, and went outside to the chilly September night. And stayed out there until he heard her stop her wailing and crying and presumably went to sleep. 

And then he went back into the sanctuary of his own room—except it wasn’t so, because Ma _still_ sat on his bed, eyes puffy and brimmed with red like _he_ was the one who hit _her_. And she apologized to him for slapping him, and said that she loved her Eddie bear, you will always be my Eddie bear, please never leave me... And he told her that he loved her too, and hugged her, laid his head on her shoulder, let her believe that crocodile tears and an apology would be enough for him to stay forever. Then she actually went to sleep. And he did, too. 

Not. 

_(bitch.)_

He packed all his clothes in his vacation suitcases, three pairs of shoes, his favorite automotive book that his Dad gave him, his phone, his headphones and laptop... and then went into his bathroom

(never realized I had so many fucking pills)

and took his toothbrush and mouthwash and ignored all of the fucking bottles of medicine... 

(no Eddie bear NO take some of that _PLEASE_ what if you get sick _and DIE_ what are you going to—)

...well, except the Tylenol and Pepto-Bismol. He’ll take those just in case. 

He put his suitcases in the backseat of his car (his trunk would’ve probably woken Ma up), got in the front seat, thought about calling Maria, and cried. 

Then he ran towards he moon.

* * *

It takes him a little while to get to where he’s going: a seven hour drive from New York to Maine—but his car makes it. He only has to stop for gas once. And when he finally gets to Maine, he stops in a little rinky-dink town, at a Motel 6. 

( _shit,_ this looks like Bates’ Motel)

But he doesn’t care. It’s 6 AM, he’s tired. So he sucks it up and goes up to the front desk, lets them swipe his debit card. They give him keys and he lugs all his stuff into his room. 

There’s a lot of things that he needs to do now that  he’s in Maine 

(what’s this town called? Derry? Derrand?)

(whatever the fuck)

in since he  _sorta kinda maybe_ skipped town without a plan: he needs to withdraw from his classes at his community college back home (like, the class he has in  _two fucking hours_ ), he needs to figure out how to navigate this ratty little town (shouldn’t be hard), and he needs to find a definite place to stay. 

Oh, and get a job. Thank god he has money saved up from his last job and from relatives... but it won’t last forever.

And to get rid of his phone so his Ma can’t track him. 

But he’ll do all of that later. When he wakes up. First thing in the... afternoon. He’s not too worried about missing class—he has a squeaky clean record; it’ll be the first day he’s missed all semester. He puts his phone on silent, plops down like a starfish in the firm motel bed, but a bed never felt so good... and is finally able to fall asleep. 

He doesn’t know that when he wakes up that he’ll be closer than ever before to running right into the moon. He just didn’t know that the moon was a he. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie: *sleeping peacefully*  
> Sonia: *blows his phone up 53729017482929 times*


	2. dissolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted u to watch me dissolve  
> slowly  
> in a pool full of ur 
> 
> r a i n.

He wakes up at about 1 or 2.

The moon is gone until tonight—now the sun shines brightly through the motel blinds and onto Eddie’s sleepy face. He gets up,

(god, I’m sore)

showers, changes clothes. He finally braves it and turns his phone off silent—only to be barraged by seemingly thousands of notifications 

(as I was expecting). 

Most of them are from Ma. There are a few of them that are notifications. And the other few are Maria.

 **Maria Bee-a:** heyyyy e.k.!

 **Ma:** Eddie where are you????

 **Ma:** Eddie???

 **Ma:** Eddie answer me

 **Ma:** NOW

 **Ma:** EDDIE ANSWER ME NOW

 **Ma:**????

 **Ma:** if you don’t answer in the next hr I’m calling the cops

( _jesus,_ get a _grip_ )

 **Maria Bee-a:** ed are u ok? u didn’t come to class

 **Maria Bee-a:** and now your mom is asking me if I know where u are

(oh for _fuck’s sake_ )

He would text Maria later. He would deal with all of that once he got a new phone. But for for right now, a headache was forming at his temples—and for once in his life, he was glad that he brought Tylenol. Maybe this was a bad idea. And he _definitely_ should’ve planned it out—because he hasn’t even been in Maine for a full day yet and he’s already worked up a headache from being stressed out.

...And maybe he’s also hungry.

 

He heads to the first little diner he sees—it’s a couple of miles past the Motel 6, and it’s a cute little diner called Dixie’s in Nowhere, Maine

(i’m _pretty sure_ this place is called Derrand). 

Mom and Pop places like this always serve the best food. And after driving in a car and zoning out for seven hours, he could really use the hospitality... even if there wasn’t much of any. He has paper money with him this time; no more swiping his card—for now. That was his first mistake. This was a smarter move. 

But what _isn’t_ smart of him is to realize that this place is a lot bigger than what he thought it was, or how big it even appeared as he drove by. 

(for such a shitty town they really do it big huh)

(this may be the only diner in town)

Well, only diner or no diner, as long as they serve food—which they do—he doesn’t care regardless.

* * *

Dixie’s is pretty on the inside. It has a nice ambience, with dim purple overhead lights that almost make it look like a bar—but it has the coziness and familiarity of a Barnes & Noble. Most of the interior of the place looks like it hadn’t changed since the 50’s, with checkerboard floors and round, plushy seats. 

Eddie orders his food, taps his feet and waits patiently—when a guy that looks about his age walks into the diner. He walks in with ripped jeans, black boots, and a Nirvana shirt, all soaking wet... but even with his hair dripping, it still floofed out with volume in every which direction. He walks in and apparently everybody already knows who he is. 

The nice lady who took Eddie’s order (he takes it she owns the entire place) looks happy to see him. “Well, _look what the cat dragged in!_ Richie Darling! How are you?”

This Richie (or Richie Darling, either or), takes the lady’s hand and lays a barrage of kisses over it 

(how fucking dramatic)

and smiles at her. Whatever fervent elation she gave to him, he gave it three times over.

“I’m good!” He answers, and Eddie has to wonder can this dude speak _any_ louder. “I’m living and learning, Dottie.” 

“Well, that’s good! How’s Stan?”

Richie (Darling?) pauses at this—he cocks his head to the side with a playful smile, but seriously considers how to answer the question. It seems to have thrown him off. 

“He’s making it!” The corners of Richie’s mouth twitch into a smirk. “You know he’s crazy about his little boyfriend.” 

(boyfriend?) 

Dottie laughs. “He is, isn’t he? I bet he can’t stop talking about him.”

And something in Eddie swells up big and warm and heavy—the fact that for his whole life he’s felt like he’s had to conceal who he really is, his wanting-to-feel-at-home-with-a-boy-ness... and this guy can just waltz in and talk about some guy’s boyfriend like it’s nothing—and nobody gives a shit?

(maybe this town isn’t half bad.)

Dottie and this guy Richie talk for a couple more minutes—they gasp and exclaim, they laugh and carry on theatrics—and then Richie plops down in the seat right next to Eddie and looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Pssst. _Psssst_.”

(is he _serious_ right now)

Eddie cuts his eyes over to him... and when he was talking to Dottie, Eddie didn’t really get a good look at his face—his hair is shiny and curly and dark, his eyes are bright and expressive, he’s got eyeliner on behind those glasses and they both glitter like lights or

(the moon)

and the overhead lights make his face look sleepy and romantic... almost sad. He’s smiling. He’s got a pretty smile. He’s

(beautiful)

Pretty damn handsome...

But still soaking wet.

And even though they’re looking eye-to-eye now, Richie smiling, Eddie wide-eyed, he still has the audacity to do it again. “Pssst.”

Eddie breaks out of his daze. _“What.”_

Richie cocks his head back toward the window. “Wonderful weather we’re having.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to look back to finally notice the pouring rain—and to hear the thunder that’s so conveniently placed it almost makes Richie’s joke funny

(wait. when the fuck did it start raining?).

It almost got him. The sides of his mouth almost quiver into a smile... but all he gives Richie is a huff instead. It’s his _leave me the fuck alone, please_ huff. Hopefully it’s convincing enough. He’s got shit to do. He doesn’t have time to do... _whatever it is_ that he’s doing with this man right now.

But Richie doesn’t take the hint.

(or maybe he _did_ take the hint, and threw it all the fucking way to Ibiza)

(who knows)

Richie’s smile fades a bit—but to make up for the lack of smile is the raising of eyebrows. “Sooo, you must be new here.”

“And what gives you that impression.”

“Well first of all, you sound like Al Capone if I’ve ever heard him.”

“Which I’m sure you haven’t, seeing that he’s dead—”

“Admit it! You’re a filthy Yankee!”

“You are too, if you’re from here.”

“Nope!” Richie spins in his chair as if this is the best news he’s delivered all day. “I’m from California!”

But he spins back upright in his chair when two piping hot plates of food get set out in front of him and Eddie—another thing that seems to catch him by surprise.

“Your food is ready boys,” Dottie says—she’s smiling. “Be quiet now. Rich, I just went ahead and made your usual. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Oh, uh—yes, ma’am!” Richie says, eagerly, and follows Dottie’s command... for exactly 14 seconds. Eddie knows. He _counted._

(he’s getting ready to open his fucking mouth again—)

“So, Mr. Italian Man. Is there a reason why you ordered Italian food?”

Eddie scoffs. “‘Cause I’m _Italian?_ I like spaghetti.”

“Oh, yeahhh. Speaking of that, I don’t even know your name. And if I _don’t_ find it out, I’m inclined to call you Spaghetti Head.”

(there’s that stupid cute smile again)

“If I tell you what it is, will you let me eat in peace? And _never_ call me that? Ever.”

Richie grins. “Sure.”

“It’s Eddie.”

 _“Ohhh!”_ Richie does another 360 in his seat again. “That’s perfect. Eddie Spaghetti. So cute! Has a ring to it.”

“That one’s even worse. And what about the conversation we literally _just had?_ ”

“‘Oh yeah baby, call me Spaghetti Head, blah blah, I cum in peace, blah blah’... that one, right? What about it?”

Eddie rolls his eyes—but this time his face betrays him and he cracks a smile. “ _Jesus Christ,_ you’re insufferable.”

And Richie waves his hand and crinkles his eyes and cracks up laughing.

(even his laugh is cute ahhh)

(what are you, 12? get a fucking grip)

But Eddie realizes that he’s not going to get anything done with this guy distracting him with theatrics—so even if he’s going to get wet, he’s got to take a bow.

“Well, it was nice meeting you all, but I’ve got to head out. Where do I pay?”

Richie waves his hands. “Wait wait what!”

Eddie sighs, almost as if on reflex. “What now?”

“It was nice meeting you too. And we had such a good time, right? So the least I can do is pay for your spaghetti.”

“Thanks. But no thanks. I’ll pay for it.”

Richie squints his eyes as if in deep thought. Then he perks back up. “Oh, I know. I saw this in a Lifetime movie once. It’s perfect.” And he holds his hand out, his other hand rested in his palm in a fist.

“Rock, paper, scissors? _Seriously?_ ”

“Yeah,” Richie says, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

_“Why?”_

“To see who’s gonna pay. That’s what they did in the movie. Rock, paper, scissors; whoever loses has to pay for the food.”

 “ _Oh my_ —okay. Sure. I don’t see why the hell not.” Eddie holds his hands out just like Richie’s: palm up, fist resting in the middle.

“Okay! Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

Eddie picks rock.

Richie picks scissors.

“Oh _darn,_ ” Richie whines, but there’s all the smile in his voice that Eddie doesn’t even have to look at his face to see it. “Looks like I have to pay for us both. What a _shame_.”

Eddie surrenders at that point. “Fine. You win. A game’s a game.”

Richie slowly slinks his way out of his seat and towards Dottie. “Oh, Eddie... Thanks for trying to make me feel better... But nothing is _ever_ going to fill the void in my heart formed from having to pay... not even us rhyming harmoniously...”

Eddie chuckles. “Stop it.”

“Oh God, Eddie... I’m melting from sadness...” he slumps to the floor.

Dottie breaks out into a series of giggles while Eddie tries his hardest to keep his composure.

(he’s so _adorable_ )

“Get your dumb ass off the floor.”

Richie perks up with such a quickness that Eddie wonders if he’s made of taffy or something. “Okay. Whatever you say, beautiful. Here’s the receipt.”

“I don’t really need a re—”

“Oh, but you _do_.” Richie’s at the door, his hand resting on the handle to where the light bounces off his painted nails. Before he opens it, he takes a low, exaggerated bow.

“It was nice making making my acquaintance with you lovely folk. In millennial terms: ‘it’s been real’.” Then he perks back up to give a giddy wave and a

“Bye, Miss Dottie! Bye, Eddie Spaghetti!”

before he sets down a skateboard (Eddie didn’t even notice he had brought one in) holds his hands up as if that’s going to keep him dry, and boards off in the pouring rain.

And it takes until minutes after he sees Richie’s silhouette disappear that he notices why Richie was insistent on him taking the receipt 

(it’s because his dumb ass)

(put his number on it)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one:  
> Richie: it’s p e r f e c t


	3. sick sad world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) somebody please stop mike from wearing double denim  
> 2.) idk if that’s actually someone’s number i ain’t calling it tho ;-)  
> 3.) how tf could I forget B EN well it worked out for the better i guess!

It takes Eddie a couple days with shitty motel WiFi to do some of the things that he set out to do. He withdrew from his classes, looked at some potential apartments,

(who knows how long _that’ll_ be)

and he even filled out some job applications—one of them being for Dixie’s. He likes the familiarity of the name and place, even though he’s only been there once—it’s the only thing in this town he really knows. And he’ll cling to that. He’ll just call Ms. Dottie later and hopefully she recognizes his voice (and _remembers_ him)... and likes him enough to give him a chance.

Oh, and he went to the Sprint store and got himself a new phone. So that’s cool.

And he knows the first person he’ll text. He thinks he owes her an explanation.

 **Eddie:** Hey Maria it’s Eddie... I skipped town

**Eddie:** Don’t tell my mom!

**Maria ♥:** EDDIE OMG I THOUGHT U WERE DEAD

**Maria ♥:** ur just out here taking a vacay smh

**Maria ♥:** but ur secret is safe w me ;-) 

**Eddie:** That’s the thing tho Mary..... I don’t think I’m coming back

**Maria ♥:** why? what happened? where are u?

**Maria ♥:** and no srsly tho i’m so glad ur okay i was so worried

**Eddie:** I’m sorry girl :’(( I had to get a new phone. I’ll call tonight and explain it all I promise!!!

**Maria ♥:** u better kaspbrak! u’ve put me thru enough drama for three days ;-) 

He smiles. God, a part of him really thought that Maria was never going to want to talk to him again... but that’s the thing he loves about her, is her understanding. Even if she doesn’t _completely_ understand... she _understands_.

(that doesn’t make _any_ sense man)

It’s weird.

And through these two days of getting his shit together, the weather outside the motel window ranging from cloudiness to storming off-and-on—that receipt from the diner still rests on the diner’s nightstand... the handwriting on it scrawled in a Led Zeppelin-esque font, almost as if the writer purposefully learned how to write that way:

_Richie_

_(209) 256-4262_

_Hit me up boo_ ♥ 

(okay so he was _definitely_ flirting with me at the diner)

(right)

And (probably) against his better judgement... he unlocks his phone, saves the number as a new contact, and sends a text. This is his new phone, with no ties to anything he has back home. No harm in giving the Maine folks this new number, right?

 **Eddie:** Ummm hey Richie.... It’s Eddie. from the diner

(why are you _doing_ this right—oh)

 **Richie:** eddie spaghetti!!!! ♥

**Richie:** ngl for a min there i thought u were never gonna text me 

**Richie:** was gonna be kinda sad 

**Eddie:** Lmao nah I just had to get a new phone

**Eddie:** But why??

**Richie:** i mean i can’t just let the cutest boy in town get away now can i ;-) 

(the cutest boy in town?)

(does he really mean that?) 

**Eddie:** Pffft whatever

**Richie:** glad u texted me when u did tho!!! last few days i ain’t had nothin to do

**Richie:** but today if ur free do u wanna hang out w me? 

**Eddie:** Sure. What are we going on another diner date??? Lmao 

**Richie:** i’m hardly that romantic babe ;-) 

**Richie:** i can show u this cool place in bangor abt 30 mins away. I’ll send u the address

(oh god. is he gonna kill me?)

But killing doesn’t really seem to be Richie’s forte (unless it’s him killing his _immune system_ )—Eddie looks up the address that Richie sent, and it actually is a little place in Bangor, Maine called Slippy Fingerz. It appears to be a bar? After all, Richie _did_ say they could meet up at 8, which gives him the impression that it _is_ a bar... but he’s not so sure.

At about six, Richie texts again—and Eddie wasn’t going to lie and say that he wasn’t going to be disappointed if Richie cancelled... but can’t be further from that. Richie’s just a double texter.

 **Richie:** can’t wait for our lil rock n roll date ;-)

(half the time I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not)

(but okay without _a shadow of a doubt_ he’s flirting now)

 

At 7, Eddie gets ready—and is out the motel and on the road by 7:20. He plugs the directions into his GPS (just because he doesn’t want to be tracked doesn’t mean he can’t have another iPhone, right?) and is at Slippy Fingerz by about 7:50—about 10 minutes to spare.

(wait, I don’t even know what his fucking car looks like)

It takes a little while for him to find a spot and to parallel park, but he manages. Then he waits outside the door for Richie. But there’s already two guys standing near the door, which Eddie doesn’t mind, really. One of them is tall like Richie; he’s pretty cute, too—dark hair, dark clothes, but pretty blue eyes. The other guy is black, actually; the first drop of color Eddie has seen in this town,

(not very diverse here huh)

jeans, boots, and a jean jacket. He’s pretty cute, too. They’re both cute.

(or _maybe_ I’m just gay)

And they’re talking—it seems like they’re waiting on someone, too.

“Swear to God, Mike,” the brunet is saying; he’s got a soft, slow gait to his voice, “we go on at 8:30. If Rich shows up at 9, he’s _outta here_.”

“Aww Bill, you wouldn’t do that,” Mike In The Denim says. He’s smiling. “You love Richie. And we need a guitarist.”

“You got me there,” Blue Eyed Bill responds. He smiles—for a split second, and then he sighs. “Wait, god dammit, _where is Beverly?_ ”

“You know her and Richie have to be fashionably late,” Mike In The Denim says, still at smiles. He seems like a ray of fucking sunshine... in a good way.

“Well, they fashionably won’t be a band anymore,” Blue Eyed Bill says. They both snicker at this.

(wait... Richie’s in a _band?_ )

Blue Eyed Bill, who’s probably about a foot taller than Eddie, must’ve felt that Eddie was staring in the direction—because he takes a look at Eddie, sighs, and says: “Oh, god. Please don’t tell me _you’re_ waiting for that dumbass, too?”

“If that dumbass is loud and jokes all the time, then yeah, I think we’re talking about the same one,” Eddie says, and snorts a little. Mike grins.

“Well, we may as well go in and make ourselves comfortable,” Bill says. “‘Cause it’s cold as shit out here. We’re gonna freeze our asses off waiting on them.” He pauses for a bit, looks at Eddie... then smiles a little. “You can sit with us.”

“ _Oh!_ Really?” He blushes, bashful at the concept of making male friends. “Uh, thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. A friend of Rich’s is a friend of ours. ‘Sides, I think you’re the dude he keeps on talking about.”

“W-wait... what?”

Mike smirks. Eddie can’t say it looks bad on him. “He’s been on going on and on about ‘the prettiest boy’ he met at Dixie’s. So it’s settled! He’s trying to impress you.”

(he’s try... impress... _what??_ )

“Hm. So maybe he won’t be late,” Bill smirks and shrugs. “But seriously, we should get inside. I can’t feel my toes.”

* * *

Bill was half-lying when he said that Eddie would be sitting with them—him and Mike led him to a table that was already seating a young lady and her daughter. They even hugged her and she hugged back. And they said “Hey, McKenzie”, and hi to her daughter as well (who replied with “Hi, Mr. Bill! Hi, Mr. Mike!”) So obviously, they intimately know her. 

Then Bill and Mike set their things in two empty seats, and left two seats open—one for Eddie, and another for a girl named Audra... then the two of them went on the small stage in the front of the bar.

At about 8:05, two girls walk up to the table, both slim and red-headed; both have on makeup and both are very sweet and pretty. The pretty head-head with the longer hair smiles and wishes the pretty red-head with the shorter hair good luck, then gives her a kiss on the lips.

( _girlfriends?_  holy shit, they seem super cool with gay folks.)

(I _love_ this town)

“I’ll try not to break anything this time,” the shorter haired girl says, smirks, and leaves her stuff with her girlfriend at the table... then goes up stage.

(that must be Beverly, and this must be)

“Audra!” The girl says, her smile equally as pretty as her—she just got done introducing herself. Eddie hears a bit of an accent (he wonders where she’s from?) “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before?”

“It’s nice to meet you too! I’m Eddie! I’m new in town.” He shakes her hand, and she beams at the reciprocation.

“Did Richie invite you out tonight?” she asks.

And Eddie hates how his face flushes as he rubs his arm and casts his eyes down and says, “yeah...”

“Ohh _Jesus Christ,_ ” the young lady with the daughter says, and she pinches between her eyes. “Here comes Richie’s Impress a Boy Saga.”

(why does everybody keep on saying that?)

And Audra giggles, covering her mouth and nodding her head.

Richie actually isn’t too late, technically—it’s 8:12 when Eddie notices him walk in, all black clothes and body glitter and a red guitar—and walks over to the table to drop of his stuff (right on top of Bill’s).

He starts with the lady and her daughter first; as soon as he sees the lady he gives her a wide-ass smile and says: “ _McKenzie Tozier-Lewis!?_ Oh my god, I didn’t know a _celebrity_ was was gonna be here!”

Even as McKenzie rolls her eyes she’s still all smiles—even as Richie is kneeling at her feet and asking for her autograph, saying he’s her biggest fan. Her daughter seems to love the charade (she breaks out in giggles).

And then he looks so awe-struck at the both of them—looks at the kid, then Mckenzie, then the kid again, and says: “No, but seriously—I’m really glad you made it.”

 _“Duh,”_ McKenzie waves him off. “I told you I would. I can’t stand you sometimes, but not enough to lie to you.” She’s smiling. “So break a leg, Blinky.” And Richie scrunches his nose up at her and smiles.

(are they like best friends)

And McKenzie’s daughter lights up and does a little happy dance that kids do so well and yells, _“Hey Uncle Richie!”_

(oh)

Richie flashes her a wide grin—but puts his finger up to his lips anyway. “Shhh. Inside voice, Pumpkin. I’ll talk to you after the show. Okay?”

The daughter beams—and in that moment, she actually looks _a lot_ like Richie. “Okay!”

And then, finally, Richie’s eyes fall on Eddie—and even though he was expecting it, his heart still skips a beat when Richie looks at him; it feels so full and heavy and it almost feels like him and Richie are the only ones in the room.

Richie gives him a grin, too. Almost a smirk. “And _you_ made it too, Spaghetti Head.”

“You promised me.”

“A _promise? Eeek!_ I don’t remember that, boo bear,” Richie smirks. And even if it technically wasn’t a promise, he _knows_ what the hell Eddie is talking about, goddamnit. But all he adds is (right in Eddie’s ear, no less) is: “See you later.”

He scrunches his nose again, ruffles Eddie’s hair (which almost definitely now has glitter in it). Then he runs onstage—in which _everybody_ there looks relieved.

“Alright, I think we’re almost ready to start the show now, you all.” That’s the host of the event—he’s manning the fort while the band does their last bits of setting up. “Our Star Crossed Losers are here to bless us again—and in a hot second, they’re gonna light up this stage. Y’all ready?” The (rather large, actually) crowd claps and cheers in anticipation.

And then they’re done setting up, and Bill comes up to the mic and does a very short intro:

“Hey again, guys. We’re gonna play some songs from our album, _Sick Sad World_.”

And they start to play and they sound... _amazing_. Bill has a beautiful voice, and Richie has beautiful back-up vocals (while he shreds on that guitar). And Eddie can’t deny that he found himself smiling and swaying to the music from Star Crossed Losers and their Sick Sad World.

They play a lot of love songs, which Eddie isn’t sure if they did on purpose or if it were coincidence. But what he thinks is interesting was that for a couple of songs, Bill and Richie switch places—so Richie would be the main vocalist and Bill would be the back-up singer. And it sounds beautiful either way.

Richie goes up to the mic for the first switched song and says, smiling: “This one is called ‘Stan’. For my very bestest friend.” And the song choice seems to throw all the other Losers off

(is he going off program?)

but they play it anyway—intensely.

...And before Eddie knows it, the Losers are sweaty and tired and hot, but happy, and receiving standing ovations... and it was over.

And all the Losers help each other disassemble the set up, they put it away, and they go back to the table.

“How’d we do?” Bill says, smirking—he knows _exactly_ how they did.

 _“Fucking amazing!”_ Audra yells, and hugs Bev... and then blushes down at the smiling little girl (but she got a laugh out of McKenzie). “I mean, _freaking_ amazing.”

“Yeah, really though—you guys _killed_ it,” McKenzie adds, and pulls Richie into a hug. “You are so amazing and I’m _so_ proud of you.” and he lets out a little surprised yelp, but accepts the hug anyway.

“Aww, thanks McKenzie,” Richie says... and he actually seems embarrassed.

_(what!! amazing)_

And then Richie’s niece runs up and hugs his legs—and he screams _“Ariel, My Gal!”_ as he picks her up... right as she’s beginning to ramble.

“Uncle Richie, Mommy said I could wear my black coat because you always wear black and I wanted to wear black too so I could be like you because you’re _super super super_ awesome.”

 _“Really!?”_ Richie exclaims, his head cocked to the side again and his eyes wide. “ _I am?_ Well that’s too bad, Ari—because when you’re THAT awesome, you turn into an Awesome Monster. And Awesome Monsters come to tickle little girls like you!” He tickles her tummy and sides, and she squeals with delight and tries to squirm out of his grasp. And you know what? He’s so animated, and so bright, that his personality is perfect for kids

(he seems like he’d make a great father)

(are you fucking serious? it’s been like 3 days _chill out_ )

and adults alike.

And then Richie puts Ariel down, he hugs his sister and niece one last time before they go home (it’s past Ariel’s bedtime, McKenzie informs)... and the rest of the crew begin to ramble about the show and a random assortment of other things. Oh, and Eddie finally gets to meet Bev formally—she puts him in the mind frame of almost being a female Richie.

“Where’s Ben?” she asks, and Mike pulls out his phone and scoots closer to her.

“He’s stuck at home helping his mom,” he says for the people who can’t fully see the phone. “I wish he could’ve been able come!”

“And Stan the Man! It’s not a party without Stan and Haystack here,” Richie blurts out with fervency; he’s almost erratic when he talks. “Stan would’ve loved it if he came. Sorry I went off track guys, I just _had_ to play it, so he he doesn’t have be sad and cry and boo hoo ‘cause he’s stuck at home.”

“Oh!” Bill says. “That reminds me. I forgot to tell you something, Richie. Come here,” and Bill grabs Richie’s arm and leads him a little ways away from the table.

Mike looks at his phone. “Oh dang, guys. I told my Mama I’d be back by 10, and it’s almost that time. So I gotta go... I’m sorry!” He hugs Bev and Audra, shakes Eddie’s hand, and gives them all a smile while Richie and Bill are having their top secret talk. But it’s weird, Mike’s smile seems almost a little forced—and he grabs his bag, wipes his face—and when Eddie blinks, he’s already out the door. Bev furrows her eyebrows; she looks equally as lost and tense.

(what the _hell_ is going on?)

Bill and Richie come back to the table, both of them looking a little flushed

(like they got into an argument)

and Bill asks: “Where did Michael go?”

“He left,” Bev answers simply.

“Oh yeah, uh, he went home,” Eddie adds, lamely. 

But as fast as whatever tension came, it left just as quickly.

(maybe I’m just paranoid)

“Huh.” Bill crosses his arms and contemplates this. “Well, he _did_ say that he had to be back by 10. It’s not too late, though—you guys wanna have a couple of drinks?”

“I would Big Bill, but me and my boyfriend here have a little _date reservation,_ ” Richie says. He allows his mouth to curl into a smirk—and he rests his elbows on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Oh. _Boyfriend_ huh?” Bill asks. He’s smirking now, too. “This is news to me.”

“Me too,” Bev pipes in, her amusement showing all over her face and body language—she leans forward, closer to the boys in anticipation.

 _“We’re not dating!”_ Eddie all but yells—a little too flushed, a little too quickly. “We just met!”

“Yeah nah, we’re not dating... _yet,_ ” Richie coos in his ear, and Eddie swats him away. He gives that same eye-crinkling laugh again... and all is good in the world.

They say their final goodbyes to Richie’s friends, which he guesses are _his_ friends now, too—they were so warm and inviting to him that he almost feels apart of a family. And before he knows it, Richie is at the door with their bags and gives a playful eyebrow raise and a

“Whatcha waiting for, Spaghetti Head?”

As he swings Eddie’s keys around his fingers as if _he_ drives the car with the New York license plate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben: at least record the damn show for me


	4. stay woke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feeling cute night double-upload later idk ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Richie actually does get in the driver’s seat of Eddie’s car and asks him: “So where you staying at, handsome? A hotel, or?”

“The Motel 6 a couple miles past Dixie’s,” Eddie tells him. Those are the only directions he knows to give him. Apparently that’s enough for Richie.

 _“Ohhh!”_ He all by yells. “ _Okay_. The one by Small-Mart, past the Barrens, and by that Valero.”

“I don’t understand half of what you just said, but yeah—now that I think about it, there _is_ a gas station right by it. Didn’t notice it was a Valero. But what the hell is Small-Mart?”

(He’s not even going to prod about what the Barrens is. That shit sounds _cursed_.)

Richie laughs, and his eyes crinkle (do they do that every time?). “That’s what we call the only Wal-Mart in that god-forsaken town. But it’s so fucking small that it doesn’t even _deserve_ to be called a Wal-Mart; it deserves its own name.”

Eddie snickers at this. “I mean, it’s a cute name.” Richie laughs a little more and nods his head to agree.

Everything in this town is so oddly domestic and very weird. Being in this car with Richie at 10 PM feels oddly domestic—but that’s one thing Eddie will keep his mouth shut about. But Richie is driving—so he takes the opportunity for a plunge.

“Hey, Rich. Is everything okay with you and Bill?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Richie keeps his eyes on the road... but he does seem genuinely confused, no less.

“I mean,” he feels stupid now, “when he pulled you to the side, it looked like you guys were arguing. What happened?”

“Nothing,” he answers simply, and Eddie believes him. “All is good between me and the glorious Big Bill! He kinda got on my ass for being late, though. But it’s nothing personal. I’m late to _everything!_ ”

(fashionably late)

“Shit, I’d probably even be late to my own funeral.”

“And I’d be too early to mine,” Eddie says, and they both share a laugh... and maybe he _was_ being paranoid, so he decides to let sleeping dogs lie.

“So when we get to the motel, I have to show you something cool,” Richie is saying. He’s rattling on, and Eddie thinks maybe he’s nervous. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you back there but I kinda _did_ actually ask you out tonight for a date.”

“Really? At the _motel?_ How romantic.”

“Yeah, it _will_ be, how I do it,” Richie is grinning. “Say, Eddie... are you scared of heights?”

(shit, Ma tried to make me scared of _everything_ )

“Nah,” Eddie responds, simply enough.

“ _Goood_. Cause we’re not gonna be up _too_ high? But high enough.”

“Hm.” Eddie ponders this, wondering what in the actual hell this man could be wanting him to do, at 10 PM, at a Motel 6, that’s height related. He literally could not think of a single thing—except parkour. Maria always says that parkour is something that she’s always wanted to do but she’s too chicken about heights to do... wait.

_(Maria!)_

He fiddles into his bag for his phone. “ _Shit_ , I forgot I said I was gonna call my friend.”

“Am I not your friend?” Richie asks, fake offended—even shedding a couple of fake tears. “Are they better than me to have your attention?”

“No, crybaby,” Eddie snorts, in a short amount of time already getting used to his and Richie’s back-and-forth. “She’s my best friend, though. And I promised I would call. I don’t break promises like _you_ —“ at that part he gets a snicker from Richie, “—so she’s getting a call. I bet if the roles were reversed, you’d call this elusive Stan.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, “I would.” And the seriousness of his voice is so sudden and so jarring that Eddie whips his head to the driver’s seat to look at him.

(oh no. did I strike a nerve?)

(are they not talking or something?)

Richie turns his head to look Eddie in his eyes, if only for a few seconds. He’s smiling again and the seriousness has dripped out of his voice... so fast, it’s concerning. “So calldat lady.”

“Uh, okay...” Eddie dials Maria’s number.

She answers on the second ring. 

She doesn’t say hello. She says: “You’ve had me waiting on the edge of my seat _all day_ for this explanation, Eddie Kaspbrak!”

(her and Richie would get along great)

(they’re both so _extra_ )

And Richie laughs (loudly) and waggles his fingers into a wave, as if Maria can see it through the phone. “ _Heyyy,_ Eddie Spaghetti’s friend!”

“Ed—what? Wait—girl, who _is_ that?” Maria asks (loudly). But then she drops the octave of her voice low when she asks, “Eddie, is that a Boy?”

Eddie gives her the truth. “Yes, woman. He’s just my friend, though.”

But of course, in typical Gossiping Maria fashion—she doesn’t believe him.

_“Bullshit!”_ She laughs. “How long have you known him? What’s his name? Do you guys... oh my God, Eddie. Did you run all the way out to wherever for a _dude?_ ”

Eddie scoffs. Is she high? When in the hell has she known him to run away (or do anything grandiose, for that matter) for a dude? “Girl, _no!_ I’m in Maine, by the way.”

“ _Maine!?_ Why all the way out there? For this guy? Named...?”

“Richie!” The Boy in Question happily chimes in—but still keeps his eyes on the road during the drive.

“All the way out there for this guy named Richie!?” Maria exclaims.

“What part did you not understand—the N it the O? Now, does your ignorant ass wanna know this story, or do you want me to hang up?”

“Ohhh, girl! Who taught you that? _Richie?_ ” Maria claps back.

Eddie snorts. “Go to Hell.”

Maria snickers, then giggles, then bursts into full-on laughter. “You know how I am, E.K., you just have to talk over me! So you’re in Maine. Tell me what happened?”

“Okay so, my Ma heard our convo on the phone and she got really mad at me,” he tells her simply. “And she hit me.”

 _“She hit you!?”_ Maria and Richie both ask incredulously, with matching inflections.

(yep, two peas in a pod, alright)

“Yeah.” He continues. “And I got sick of her shit. Been sick of her shit. So I left.”

“I can see why.” Maria says, all the playfulness gone from her voice—just as Richie’s had been minutes before. “Girl, actually—let me get off here before I get too mad. Call me in the morning, though. I love you.”

Eddie snickers a little. Classic Maria. But Maria being herself is the _best_ Maria. “I love you too, Mary. Goodnight.”

 

“So I saw _this_ in a Lifetime movie, too; you’re gonna love it,” Richie is saying.

They’re back at the Motel 6 where Eddie is staying; they’re out the car, stalking around in the parking lot. He grabs Eddie’s hand, and Eddie lets him—he feels a spark or electricity or a wave, whatever they say in the movies—and Richie leads them to the side of the motel. Right in front of them is a little ladder, that doesn’t look too stable, that leads to the roof.

_(does he expect me to climb that?)_

Richie, on the other hand, is already up the ladder and halfway onto the roof—he stops for a second and grins down at Eddie, the moonlight casting pretty shadows on his face.

“Cmon, it’s not that bad. Don’t you want our cute little date?” 

Eddie sighs...

...but climbs up that ladder.

Richie rummages through his bag once they’re on the roof and pulls out a blanket

(a blanket?)

and wraps it around the two of them; pulls them close to where his chest is flush with Eddie’s back. They’re both looking up at the stars and at the moon, and Eddie can feel Richie’s heartbeat in between his own shoulder blades, and Richie smells like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne

(great! I finally found a thing I don’t like about him)

—but he doesn’t mind. 

“Romantic enough for you?” Richie teases, right into his ear—

(mm ravage me/I wanna ravage you)

—and oh God, his breath tickles Eddie’s ear and his face is nuzzled in Eddie’s neck and they’re so close so soon but somehow, it feels perfect.

“Uh,”

(say something, idiot)

“Actually, yeah. It is. I’m impressed.” 

“Goood. Well, now I _have_ to keep up the vibe. Want me to point out some constellations for you?”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles, and blushes, and allows himself to be held and to be vulnerable. “That would be nice, actually.”

Richie points up to a cluster of stars with his right hand, his left hand loosely hugging Eddie by the waist. “That’s a star, and that’s a star—and _oooh!_ That’s _also_ a star.”

Eddie props himself up a little with his elbow so he can look at Richie clearly,

(seriously)

to which Richie giggles and shrugs and says, “So I _maaaay_ not know what the hell I’m talking about.”

Eddie can’t help but to grin a little. “Figures.”

Richie’s propped up now, too—on the opposite elbow so he and Eddie can face each other. “Aww, what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Richie Dearest. Now scoot back over here; I’m cold.”

“Oh?” A devilish smirk cracks Richie’s face. “You wanna cuddle some more?”

“Like I told Maria on the phone: Go to Hell.”

Richie grins, and chuckles a little (but does oblige and scoots back closer)—and instead of purple diner lights, it’s now the blue lights of the Motel 6 sign that’s illuminating his face.

“Oh! I know something fun we can do! McKenzie and I used to play this game when we were little called 99 Questions. We can play it too, if you wanna.”

“Sure. How do you play?”

“Ehhh, It’s like 21 Questions, but she bent the rules a little. So basically, somebody starts off by saying _‘99 Questions: Go!’_ and then they ask their question. You can’t pass on the question, and you have to answer truthfully. If you think they’re lying, you can call them out on their bs by saying _‘beep beep’!_ And then the second person asks a question, same rules apply, you just keep it going until one of you runs outta questions.”

Eddie chuckles. “Okay. Well, you start first, in since it’s your game.” 

“Okay! 99 Questions, Go: Edward or Edwin?” 

“ _Seriously_ , Richie?”

“Edward or Edwin?” Richie asks again, looking as if he’s about to choke on his own laughter. 

“Oh, my God. It’s Edward.”

“Beep beep!”

“You are _so_ _annoying_ ,” Eddie says—and Richie can’t hold it in anymore; he finally cracks and breaks into a fight of childish giggles. 

“Aww, but I jest, Edward Scissorhands! What’s your question?”

“Hm... okay, I got one. Can you tell me a story?”

“A _story?_ ” Richie seems amused by this, but he doesn’t put up much of a fight... after all, those are the rules of the game. “Of course, but only for my Spaghetti Head. 

Well, Once Upon a Time, there was a Prince, and he had a little brother. That prince was so fucking close to that little brother—they were like, ride or die. Their parents would get mad because they were always getting themselves _and_ each other into trouble!

But the worst day of the Prince’s life is when his little brother dies.” 

“Oh, my God,” Eddie says out loud.

“And when his little brother dies,” Richie continues, “the Prince’s world gets shrouded in darkness for years and years. Until a Prince from a foreign land swoops in, and is so pretty and fun and entrancing—that after not long at all, he makes the Prince’s world a little brighter.” 

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Did you just make that up?”

“Nope. It’s a Tozier classic that’s been in our family for generations.”

“Beep fucking _beep_. You’re so full of it.” 

Eddie laughs, and Richie laughs too, and shrugs, and says: “Fine! Maybe I did make it up on the fly.”

“That’s so sad, I... Uh, well—it’s your turn. You got a question?”

“I do, I do!” Richie scoots even closer to the point where their knees touch. “What other shit from your mom that made you so fed up that you came to Derry, Maine?”

( _Derry!!_ shit, I was _positive_ it was called Derrand)

“ _Ooh_. Getting into the tough questions now. Well, she has a disorder called Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. She constantly lied to me and told me I was sick when I really wasn’t. She didn’t like me to have friends. She didn’t like us to be around family. She said all this nasty shit about me all the time. Her slapping me was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Why would she _do_ that?” Richie asks, somber and serious again—genuinely upset.

“She wants people to feel sorry for her. And if she’s a single mother with a sick, sad son, then she’ll get the sympathy we wants.”

“ _Haaa!_ I see what you did there,” Richie chirps, amused, and boops Eddie on the nose 

(why does he do stupid cute shit like that?)

“But let that straw stay broke; she deserves it,” he continues—and then, in a perfect Childish Gambino impersonation, yells: _“Now stay broke!”_

(holy shit that was awesome) 

“That was cool and kinda creepy how good that was and all, but I got a hard-hitter too. When are you going to introduce me to this elusive Stan?”

“Oh, Eddie,” Richie says. “I would love love _love_ for you guys to meet and become _almost_ very best friends—you’ve got the same humor, Stan’s is dryer, though—and you’ve got the same wit. However, his parents have got him on lockdown. They give him grief about hanging with me nowadays; what a shame. So, I’d have to find a way to sneak all of us in a hangout. _Buuuut,_ you wanna know my next question?”

Hm. Eddie _supposes_ that’s a good enough reason to not meet this very popular Stan. So after he decides he’s okay with the answer that Richie gave him, he says: “Sure. What is it?”

“Do you like kids?”

“Yeah, I like them. I wouldn’t mind having a couple of my own one day. I guess you...?”

“Love ‘em,” Richie finishes. “I really wanna be a father one day.”

(I _knew_ it)

“I figured. You seem really close with your niece.”

”Yep! That’s my baby girl.”

(go ahead and bite the bullet)

“You got any names planned out already?”

Richie has laid back down, his hair splaying out in every direction on the roof—and he’s smiling up at the stars in a nostalgic sort of way. “Aurora or Daisy or Amanda for a girl. Haven’t really thought about if I have a lil’ mini-Rich, though. What, have you?”

“Roman,” Eddie says without much hesitation. “For a boy.”

This makes Richie sit back up just a little and look at Eddie with that dorky head-titled smile.  _“Roman?”_

“What, you don’t like it?” 

“It doesn’t matter if I like it, Spaghetti-O’s. _You_ like it, and that’s what matters—that’s what makes it beautiful!”

And after that, the two of them ask more stupid, inconsequential questions. Eddie supposes that he _could_ ask Richie some more personal stuff, but Richie doesn’t too much cross that line—so Eddie will take his lead and he won’t cross either. And you know what, that’s fine—because it feels like they’ve got all the time in the world to ask the hard questions, anyway.

He doesn’t know how long they’re up there asking questions—just that he wakes up in the motel bed with the covers pulled up to his shoulders, and a message on his phone.

**Richie:** had so much fun boo ;-) same thing 2morrow? just a lil earlier? 

Except he sits up a little bit and sees a curly mop of hair leaned back against the foot of the bed, hears light snoring, sees glasses on the nightstand and knows it’s Richie—like he had intentions to leave, but just fell asleep right on the floor. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maria: imma beat that woman’s ass


	5. ★. t. lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes i think that next chapter is gonna be... angsty y’all 
> 
> but ben is here!! so that’s a plus!

Eddie’s always been a morning person, and he’s learning that Richie seems to be the opposite—because he wakes up at around 7 and Richie is still asleep. Eddie put him in bed, covered him up with blankets, so he’s snuggled under those. His sleeping face peeking from underneath makes him look serene

(and cute)

and almost fairy-like. 

He remembers the message that Richie sent him last night—so he figures he’ll be ready for when Richie wakes up. He runs the shower, he picks out clothes, and he checks the time. Well, except that it turns out that his and Richie’s phones look the _exact fucking same_ (even similar phone-cases), so he accidentally picks up the wrong one.

And he doesn’t realize it until he hits the home button, sees a lock-screen wallpaper with a passcode lock that obviously isn’t his. And obviously Eddie’s not going to try to unlock his phone, but his wallpaper is interesting. 

Richie has a photo of him and some other guy hugging Ariel, all smiling. Richie has on his signature eyeliner and glitter, but this other guy’s a little more low-key: a polo, skinny jeans, sunglasses. He’s got curly hair, same volume as Richie’s—it even floofs out in the same way. All of them have on metal decorative headbands with lights built in, that say  _ ★.t.l.  _

(is that Ben?) 

But then Eddie feels wildly weird and intrusive and slightly paranoid

(or Stan?)

and his shower is going to run cold... so he puts the phone back down where he found it, and checks his own.

“It rains so fucking much up here,” Richie is saying—and even though they both got a lot of rest, he still looks like he’s about to fall out. “I almost didn’t get outta bed.”

“You and me both,” Eddie says; which it isn’t really a lie—he could really use a nap right now. 

They’re in Eddie’s car—and ironically enough, they’re driving _back_ to Dixie’s, to eat lunch with all of Richie’s friends. It’s pouring down rain, and the two of them aren’t talking much, except for a playful jibe here or there—because Eddie is using all his concentration to focus on the road (and Richie is falling asleep). Richie has on a completely different outfit now, blue skinny jeans and a red shirt; he packed a change of clothes in his bag.

(on purpose) 

When they get to Dixie’s, there’s not many people in the parking lot—but two cars and a truck are parked side-by-side, and Richie points and tells Eddie to park next to those. He assumes that those are the vehicles of Bill and the others. 

They already see four people sitting together at the booth and Dottie entertaining them; Eddie’s a smart man, and he assumes the short cuts of hair and firey ringlets belong to the lovely people he met last night. Richie seems to have waken up more—and he taps one of them on the shoulder and says, “Psst. Big Bill.”

Bill turns around, grinning a little, and says: “Why do you _always_ do that?”

“I have to get your attention somehow,” Richie says—again, as if it’s common sense. And when the rest of the crew turn around in their seats to face Richie and Eddie, they all snicker. 

“Oh, whatever,” Bill mutters—but then he laughs, and gets out of his seat to hug Richie anyway. Then Bev does, then a guy about Mike’s stature, brunet, facial hair, 

(not the same dude from Richie’s wallpaper)

and then Mike last. 

And when he does, Richie hugs him and looks kind of sad and says: “I’m sorry, by the way.” And Mike seems to know what he’s talking about. He beams that bright smile from before and says: “Aww, it’s okay!” and hugs Richie even tighter.

“So, Mr. Spaghetti, this is Haystack,” Richie says in the most grandiose of fashions after his hug with Mike—and sweeps his arms to the new brunet. “And Haystack, this is Mr. Spaghetti.”

The brunet laughs and blushes and waves him off. But then he says, “Hi, I’m Ben.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie says, and and extends his hand, which Ben accepts. “I’m Eddie, in since Richie doesn’t believe in calling people by their god-given names.”

Everybody laughs (except for Richie—who smirks, winks, and shoots finger guns). “Naw, he likes to nickname everybody,” Ben says. “But you gotta love him.”

(I mean...)

(are you _serious_ Eddie please shut up)

Lunch goes without a hitch—the sound of rain and thunder is almost drowned out by laughter. Bill and Richie take the piss out of each other; Mike, Eddie, Ben, and Beverly switch in between conversations amongst themselves. And after their pissing contest, Bill and Richie laugh and join in on the conversation, too. 

Ben and Eddie actually have a lot in common: they both like to build things and they both love cars. They have similar humor, and personalities—and Eddie thinks it’s cool; he thinks he’s meshing into their friend-group really well. Maybe Richie gets a little jealous; maybe he bumps his and Eddie’s knees together and grins when Eddie looks at him—it seems to be an act of _pay attention to me._ But surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t mind. He seems not to care about a lot of the things that Richie does,

(wonder why)

that he’d find annoying in any other dude.

But a cool thing happens at this lunch, at 9 AM, in a diner while it’s pouring rain: 

Bill looks dead into Eddie’s eyes and he says, “Well, it’s settled. You’re one of us now.”

Eddie blushes. He actually _blushes_. “What?”

“You’ve hung out with our annoying asses more than once and we all get along with you,” Bill smirks. “We can’t say that for just anybody.”

Richie gasps, typical theatrics—but he seems genuinely happy. And even with that, he puts on a generic Valley Girl voice—and a damned good one at that. “Oh my _God,_ Eds. You  can like... _totally_ sit with us now.”

“Eds? That’s even fucking worse than the other—“

“Cheers to the Star Crossed Losers’ Club!” Richie yells... and everybody actually does clink their glasses together. “Or just the Losers’ Club for short. We keep it classy here.”

“I like it,” Bill says, grinning. 

“Me too!” Richie says. He try’s to wrap his arms around everybody’s shoulders so he can pull them all in close. “It’s a super-secret club just for the seven of us.”

(seven?)

Nobody corrects him.

* * *

September comes and goes—and it isn’t until October, when it really starts to get cold, that the magic happens. The magic and the nightmare. And if you were to ask Richie in about a year what he’d call this period, he’d call it “the magic and the tragic”. But the term “nightmare” suffices just the same. 

Eddie is having the time of his life in Maine. He finally feels free—like he was trapped in a bell jar and now the jar has finally been lifted. He has Beverly, who loves to just be called Bev; he has Maria (they talk everyday)—and he has male friends for the first time in his life. He starts working at Dixie’s at the beginning of October, and Dottie is ecstatic to have him... and _hypothetically,_ he can stay at the Motel 6 for as long as he likes. All of it almost makes him forget why he came here. 

Oh, yeah. And Richie.

That eccentric, irresistible, magical Richie. 

Eddie doesn’t know how or when they started hanging out everyday—but the month of them knowing each other feels like ten years. All the rest of the Losers joke that Richie’s his boyfriend... but he has to wonder, do they seem wrong? They’re always together, he goes to all of STL’s shows—Richie told him that his favorite color is red... and Eddie sees red in _everything_ now. 

One of Richie and Eddie’s favorite places to go is back on the roof of the Motel 6—they go there so often that Eddie doesn’t mind anymore; it has familiarity now. And he likes it up there. It’s pretty and well lit and with a nice view and it’s with _Richie_. 

Barely into the month of October, the third, is when the magic happens. They’re stargazing on the roof, they’re huddled up under the blankets like Richie loves to do—Richie suddenly blurts out: “Hey. Um. Eddie. I have to tell you something.”

“What, that you’re in love with me?”

And Richie smiles—not grins, not smirks, smiles—and says, “You’ve got jokes, but it actually _is_ something like that.”

(wait, is he serious? he loves me? love?)

(it’s been a _month_ )

(he’s in _love_ with me?)

Then the grin comes, and Richie continues through lack of an answer; scoots in closer to fight the chill or for romance or whatever else. “I’m joking. I mean, but not really. _Ohh yikes,_ I’m nervous. Eddie, I really like you.”

And that’s all that Eddie needs to hear;

_(“I really like you”)_

he grabs Richie’s cheeks and closes the gap between them, feeling how warm and soft he is, allowing himself to be washed in the scent of smoke and cheap cologne—it’s him and Richie on that roof, blue-lit faces, warm against the October chill... it’s just the two of them in the whole world. Nothing else matters. 

And they keep kissing and kissing, Eddie in between Richie’s legs, Richie nibbling on Eddie’s bottom lip—and God, it feels so good; this is what he’s always wanted, this is how being at home is supposed to be. He’s never felt like this before. 

But then they both jump at whatever just made that loud-ass noise... and look down to see the angry blue-lit up face of the motel owner. He’s smacking a broom against the side of the motel. 

“ _Goddamit, Tozier!_ You and your little boyfriend better get the _hell_ off my roof!”

 

They get back into Eddie’s room, still out of breath from kissing and from scramming from the roof—when Eddie turns his whole body so that he’s facing Richie. “99 Questions, Go.”

Richie grins, theatrically putting his hand up to his chest in surprise. _“Oh!?”_

“Am I the Prince from a foreign land? From your story?” 

And with the question Richie softens up; he moves closer and closer until he closes the gap. “Oh, Eddie Spaghetti,” he says, the tone of it totally changed in since he’s straddling Eddie’s lap. “It’s _always_ been you.”

And they kiss again—and honestly, Eddie could do this all night, and it seems like Richie can, too—and the magic of it all is just so intoxicating. 

But Act II is darker. 

There’s a reason why Shakespeare wrote so many tragedies. It sells. And it’s human. So the two of them, pressed close together, feeling at home, kissing under the moon, don’t yet know that scattered thunderstorms aren’t the only thing looming in Maine’s horizons. It’s also people that Richie have only heard before—and someone on his wallpaper that Eddie has never met before. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill: sorry you’re our friend now I don’t make the rules


	6. m + s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo double upload time!
> 
> yikes. the Angst™️

If you were to ask Eddie what day he thinks tragedy struck them, he would say December twenty-first—but _technically_ , October 30th is when the paranoia was finally proved right in his mind.

Eddie learns that October 30th is Mike’s birthday—he takes pride in being a Halloween child and asks that everyone dresses accordingly. But what Mike didn’t know is that the rest of the crew had gotten together and had planned him a surprise party. He gets off work early, in his yellow turtleneck and black slacks, looking half-librarian, half historian—and actually screams when everybody jumps out to surprise him when he walks through the door.

The first words out of his mouth are “Aww, _guys!_ You didn’t have to do this for me”—which to Eddie, attests to how sweet and selfless Mike has proved himself to be. And then he grins and says something along the lines of, “you bastards didn’t even give me any time to change”... which attests to how _funny_ Eddie thinks he is, too.

He comes out of his room with his turtleneck on, but otherwise dressed like a sheep—Bill is a vampire, Bev is Rosie the Riveter, Richie is Marilyn Monroe,

(typical)

Ben is Bob the Builder, and Eddie is a nurse.

“Really doing big this year, huh Rich?” Mike asks, and he puts the back of his hand over his mouth to cover his laughter.

“I don’t know who Rich is, Mr. Hanlon,” Richie says—with a perfect imitation—

(that’s _still_ so awesome/creepy)

“My name is Norma Jeane, but I go by Marilyn.”

“You’re so _fucking_ _stupid,_ ” Bill grins... and Richie breaks character and laughs.

Everybody pitched in money to buy a cake that says “ _Happy 23rd Birthday, Mike”_ adorned with fondant farm animals—and Bill records as Mike blows out his candles. Then, everybody passes out their gifts. Eddie bought Mike a nice watch with half his second paycheck from Dixie’s—which he really appreciates and gives Eddie a hug for. And when it’s Richie’s turn, he gives Mike a big rectangular-shaped item covered in wrapping paper.

“Tell me if you hate it; I can take it back,” Richie says... and he sounds nervous.

And Eddie waits patiently until Mike carefully unwraps the gift to see what it is: a framed photo collage. It’s all pictures of Mike and that same guy from Richie’s wallpaper—they look so madly in love in those pictures; so happy and carefree. Mike is carrying him bridal-style in one of them; the guy (with the same sunglasses on—it must’ve been the same night) is hugging Mike from behind in another. And the top of the frame has built in letters that say _“Mike + Stan // 2.14.14.”_

(so that _is_ Stan. Mike’s his boyfriend?) 

Mike doesn’t even know what to say. He puts the back of his hand back over his mouth, this time to fight back tears—but it doesn’t work. “No... I... it’s not... I _love_ it, Richie. I _really_ love it.” He gives Richie a huge hug. Bill joins in too, rubs Mike’s back... and Mike doesn’t stop crying until a couple of hours later. 

 

“Do y’all think everybody had the same idea?” Ben is asking. “To go out drinking tonight for Halloween? If so... the bar’s gonna be _packed_.”

“Maybe not,” Bev reassures from the wheel. She, Ben, and Eddie are all in her hatchback; Bill, Richie, and Mike all rode in Bill’s car. “‘Cause maybe everybody’s out doing early trick-or-treating.” She smirks. “Now, _that’s_ an idea everybody’s bound to have.”

“Or maybe people had _both_ ideas,” Eddie grins from the backseat. “Then we’re fucked regardless.”

Bev looks in her rear view mirror, fake whining. “C’mon Eddie, don’t say that! I wanna get fuckin’ _wasted_ , man!”

Ben turns his head a bit to look back at Eddie. “This is off-topic... but how long you staying in that Motel 6, man? ‘Cause you know, I just moved in with Bev and Audra... and you could totally crash with us.” 

“Huh? Really? You guys would do that for me?”

“Duh, _stupid,_ ” Bev says with an easy laugh. “We’ve got a spare bedroom. And we can totally split the rent four ways.”

“I mean...” Eddie blushes again. “I mean if you’re down with that, then yeah—I _totally_ will.” 

Bev squeals. _“Ahhh! Sick!”_

“Surprised we asked before Richie did,” Ben adds. “But I guess he doesn’t have enough room in his and Stan’s apartment.”

(wait a _fucking second_ ) 

“They... what? Richie told me that Stan lives with his parents.”

“Why did he tell you _that?_ ” Ben teases, grinning back at Eddie again. “They live together, as far as I know. I mean, that’s what Bill said.”

(he fucking _lied_ to me) 

And Eddie is so mad, so silently _pissed_ —that he thinks that when he sees Richie, he’s gonna strangle all of the magical fairy-dust out of him... but in since it’s Mike’s birthday, he doesn’t want to make a scene. 

* * *

Eddie doesn’t know Stan’s last name; Richie never told him _that,_ either—but in since him and Bill and Mike are friends with him on Facebook, Eddie finds him easily. His name is Stanley Uris, and his profile picture is him (no sunglasses) with his head in his hands, looking apathetic; his eyes are looking up and to the side. 

He scrolls through every picture he can, every status—and turns out dude hasn’t been active on Facebook for a couple of years and some change. He types as apathetically as he looks, except for the outlier statuses where he’s talking about Mike:

**Stanley Uris:** My baby just surprised me at work with flowers. What a guy! I’m so lucky. I love you, Mikey Bikey. ♥♥

He has selfies, pictures of him and his parents, polaroids of his Bar Mitzvah, a picture of him on his birthday last year;

**Stanley Uris:** Woohoo, One more year until I can drink legally. Can’t wait till I’m 22. Only so I can sing Taylor Swift. Lol.

him with Bill, Mike, and Richie—and pictures of him with all three of them separately. The picture that stands out to Eddie the most is the exact one that Richie has as his lock-screen. The caption reads: 

**Stanley Uris:** Two years ago, Richie and I were bored and decided we wanted to start a band, because we’ve both always wanted to be rockstars. Lmao. And it’s crazy to look back and see how far we’ve come. I love this band, I love all the people who’ve helped my friends and I, my friends who feel like family—I love it all so much. And you too, Richard (yes, put the accent mark on it). I’ll always be a  ★ .t.l. 

And there’s a flood of comments bleeding support and love—and two from Richie. But the more recent one, only from about four months ago, says:

** Richie Tozier  ★ ** **:** i love you, stan. miss you so much man 

And it’s so weird. It’s all so weird. Eddie’s mind wants to try to make some logical sense out of it all, but he doesn’t know how. So he knows who he thinks he should ask—in since Richie may just give him more vague lies—even though he should probably bide his time. He knows who doesn’t like to sugarcoat things and will give him the truth... he hopes. 

Bill.

And thankfully, he doesn’t have to bide his time for long.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. 22

Because December twenty-first comes before he knows it—and it comes hard, and fast, and ugly.

Things have still been pretty good with him and Richie. They still hang out everyday, they hug and kiss and hold hands and carry on—but Eddie can’t shake the sick feeling he has when he hears Richie talk about Stan. Eddie was almost born a Taurus; he’s usually a person who isn’t scared of conflict in the slightest... but every single time he tries to talk himself into asking Richie what the hell is going on, he talks himself _out_ of it. 

(what’s he gonna do, _lie to you more?_ )

But on this chilly night of December 21st, Eddie heads to Bill’s apartment—that’s where everybody is going to be tonight, for a chilled-out kick-back. They all normally go to a bar for drinks, or out to eat... but with this cold, it seems like nobody is in the mood. And when he gets there (and Bill lets him in), everybody is already talking and laughing, and Beverly has a bong. Eddie’s not one to smoke himself, 

(your asthma Eddie think of your _ASTHMA_ )

but hey—they’re all adults here. 

Ben is resting with his legs spread out in Mike’s lap (the latter who appears to be napping), and Richie is on his stomach with his legs raised up on the floor. He looks somber and sad and in deep thought. But he perks up as soon as he sees Eddie walk through the door, let’s out a chirpy little _“Spaghetti Head!”,_ and sits up so he can give Eddie a kiss on the lips. 

Eddie lays down on the floor next to him, mirroring the motion and lying on his own stomach. “Hey, baby.”

When everybody’s situated and comfortable, Bill lets out some bad news: “Bev, Rich—we can’t smoke tonight. My neighbors filed a complaint; I’m not trying to get in trouble. Sorry, guys—I wanted to get high, too.”

_“Damn!”_ Bev exclaims... but obliges and puts her bong back in her bag.

“That sucks. Would’ve been the perfect night for it,” Richie says, and he’s back to his sad, somber disposition. 

(what’s _wrong_ with him? he’s usually so upbeat)

“But on a lighter note, I’ve got a question to ask,” Bill adds. He looks over to the direction of Ben and Mike (and the former perks up his head), and down to the floor. He claps his hands together, looking from Ben to Eddie to Ben again. “We always joke that we’re all the Star Crossed Losers Club. Well, do you guys _actually_ want to be a part of the Star Crossed Losers?”

Eddie sits all the way up—and without even looking at him, he feels Ben’s eyes light up—and him and Ben both yell in unison. _“What! Like, the band?”_

Bill grins, with his arms crossed—this seems to be the exact reaction he was wanting out of them. 

“Yeah. Eddie, I know you said you play drums—you and Mike can play them together, and you can be a guitarist.” He uncrosses his arms, and Eddie smiles at Bill’s pure excitement. “And Ben, you’re so good at tech, man—you can help me and Rich with vocals, and play the keys. Like, the synths. So what do you guys say? Are you in?”

Richie gets up so fast that Eddie doesn’t even realize until Richie is standing right in front of Bill, with his eyebrows furrowed. “No.”

Bill’s smile melts off his face completely. “C’mon, Rich. What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Richie’s combative posture fades a little; he darts his eyes over to Ben, then down to Eddie.He shakes his head. “I mean, I’m cool with them being in the band, obviously. He can help us with vocals but he can’t do... _that._ ”

“Why? It’s not fair to make Bev do synths all on her own.” 

“She does a good job by herself,” Richie says, and throws his hands up for emphasis. “Did you even ask Mike how he felt about this?”

Bill laughs. It’s a bitter laugh. He steps a foot closer to Richie and says, “Don’t act like you care about how Mike feels.” 

Richie furrows his eyebrows again. His hair seems to not floof, but spike out, like angry tendrils. “The fuck’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You know good and damn well what it’s supposed to mean.” Bill’s eyes are dark and icy blue. “Just like _I_ know the reason you don’t want Ben to play the keys. You’ve gotta let it go, man.”

_“Let it go?”_ Richie’s eyes widen like they do when he’s in theatrics, and happy-go-lucky—but now, they make him look feral. _“Let it go, Bill?_ Seems like _I’m_ the only person that hasn’t forgotten all about him! It’s his birthday tomorrow, and you have the _audacity_ to try to replace him in his _own band?_ ” 

“I _know_ it’s his birthday tomorrow, Richie,” Bill all but yells. “I-I didn’t forget. You weren’t the only person that was friends with him. But you always try to _act like_ you were. You and him were my best friends. He was Mike’s _boyfriend_ , for fuck’s sake. But we just had to move on. Even his parents did. You are _literally_ the only person who can’t. And you talking about him isn’t going to bring him back—“

_“Shut the fuck up!”_ Richie yells, his eyes still wide and crazed and angry—and he charges at Bill, lands on top of him, and the two of them grapple on the floor. “Shut _up!_ You don’t know _shit!_ Don’t talk to me about them! _They killed him! Don’t talk to me about them; you don’t know_ shit! _”_

“ _Stop it,_ guys!” Bev is yelling. “Please. Stop!” 

Eddie had scoot backwards towards the couch when all of this had began, closer to Ben and Mike. Mike had woken up from the commotion and was now in wide alert, and him and Ben quickly get off the couch—and, both of them being bigger in stature than Richie and Bill, quickly break the two up. 

All four of them are standing—Bill and Richie with angry eyes and being held back by Ben and Mike, respectively—and Bill is the first one to speak. “Is that what you think, Rich? Is that what you _really_ think?”

“I _think_ you should shut the fuck up before I beat your ass in your own apartment.”

Bill laughs again and shakes his head. “Fine. If that’s how you really feel, then find a new vocalist. I’m _done_.” He points to the door. “Get the fuck out. I’m done. You’re _crazy,_ dude. I hope you get some help.”

Richie tries to charge forward Bill again—but Mike restrains him easily... until Richie puts his hands up in surrender and Mike lets him go. He starts heading towards the door—but before he opens it, he gets close to Bill again and says, “Stan and I _made_ this band. We don’t need you.” 

Eddie runs towards the open door and grabs one of Richie’s hands. “Wait, baby! Wait—”

Richie puts his hands up in surrender again. “Nah, Eddie, it’s cool. Bill wants me to leave, so I’m leaving.” And then he leaves, and slams the door behind him. 

And Eddie feels like he physically and metaphorically left him in the cold.

* * *

“You don’t have to ice me up; he didn’t hit me that bad,” Bill is saying. “I honestly think I hit _him_ harder than he hit _me_.”

Bev and Mike were shaken up, so Ben agreed to drive them home—they all said their goodbyes, their well wishes, and left about thirty minutes ago. So it was just Eddie and Bill in the latter’s apartment. 

Bill and Eddie have gotten really close in the almost four months of Eddie being in Maine—he feels like if he had to choose a male best friend, then it would Bill. He’s the male best friend that Eddie always wished he could have, if he got along with other men. He almost feels as if Bill is his big brother, in a way. 

Which is why it was hard to make the decision if he should chase after Richie (even though Richie said _“please don’t follow me”_ ), or if he should stay in the apartment with Bill. But the more he tries to text Richie with no response, the more and more he feels helpless, and wants to cry,

(it feels like I’m in New York again)

and the more he just wants to get to the fucking bottom of all of this. 

“I wasn’t even expecting him to hit you,” Eddie says, and he almost feels like he’s in a daze. “I’ve never seen him act like that before.”

“Don’t worry, he usually doesn’t,” Bill says, smiles a little to make Eddie feel better, and waves his hand. “He’s just been so... _off_ , for the past couple of years, and... I dunno. You coming into town was the happiest I’ve seen him in forever.”

“But _why,_ Bill?” The words come out surprisingly sad and strained. “Why has he been off? What happened? I mean, at first I thought he was cheating on Stan with me, and I was the other guy, which is why we never met, but I take it that Stan’s... he’s...”

“Yeah, it’s exactly what you think,” Bill sighs—and he gets off the couch. “I’ll be right back.” 

While he’s gone, Eddie’s phone vibrates twice and he almost gasps when he sees who it is. _Finally_.

**Richie:** i’m fine babe

**Richie:** i’ll be ok

That’s all he needs to know. That he’s okay for now. He’ll text him back later, after this is cleared up for him.

And then Bill heads back to what Eddie assumes is his room, and comes back with a booklet that he carefully places in Eddie’s hands. It has a picture of Stan on the front, with nice clothes on like he’s going to synagogue, and he’s smiling—and below the picture, it there’s text. 

**_Stanley Adam Uris_ **

**_December 22, 1996-April 17, 2016_ **

And Eddie gets a chill down his spine when he sees that

(he died on my _birthday_ ) 

It’s Stan’s obituary. 

Bill puts his hand on Eddie’s shoulder once he realizes that he’s shaking, and says, softly: “Stan passed away a couple years ago. We were all super hurt by it—we even thought about disbanding the Losers. But Stan has a status up on Facebook, I think, 

(“I love this band/I love it all so much”)

about him always being a part of STL. So we kept going.” Bill’s eyes suddenly well with tears—which throws Eddie off just as much as seeing Richie angry did, seeing that Bill is always so stoic and collected. “I-I di-i-dn’t mean what I-I said to Rich.”

And Eddie frowns, and says, “Aww, Bill,” and gives him a hug. “We can fix that later.” 

Bill accepts the hug—and even when his voice is strained and he’s crying, he’s collected. “They called me after the fact. I-I didn’t _know_. They were _there_. I can’t e-even _imagine_ how that must’ve been for them.”

Eddie thinks about doing some gentle coaxing, but he’s a smart man; he feels in the blanks of _“they”_ with _“Richie and Mike”,_ and keeps his mouth shut. He rubs Bill’s back and lets him say what he has to say. He’s never this talkative, after all. It’s like words he could’ve said in conversation bubble up to the surface of him. 

“I’m trying to move on, not _forget_ about him, just move on—but Richard always talking about him like he’s still alive hurts _so fucking bad._ And I-I just get so a-angry. And I don’t know _why_ I’m getting angry for. I just have to be mad at somebody. But i-it’s nobody’s fault.”

“I think that’s a normal reaction, Bill,” Eddie says—and that’s all he _can_ say. He’s never had to deal with death to this degree: he’s had very distant relatives in his family die, but never a close friend. So he doesn’t know what to say. 

“I guess so,” Bill says, and wipes his face, and tries to compose himself. “I’ve got my reaction, and Richie hates it, and Richie’s got his reaction, and _I_ hate it. And Mike just never tries to think about it, and that’s his reaction. And Richie and I _both_ hate it. But none of us are wrong, I think.”

“You’re all just mourning him differently.” Eddie can’t say his name. His name feels so heavy in his mouth.

“Yeah,” Bill says, and sniffles a little—he seems like he’s in a daze, too.

So now that Eddie is all the more closer to having all of the gaps filled in the story for him, he pulls out his phone and sends Richie a quick message. 

**Eddie:** We need to talk

**Eddie:** Can I come over please??

**Richie:** yeah 

**Richie:** that’d be nice

“Richie finally texted me back. He said I can come over,” Eddie offers up. “You wanna ride with? You can sit in the car.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Bill says—but he grins and chuckles. “I don’t think he’d wanna see me. ‘Sides, I’m not in the mood to get in another fight anyway. And you guys should talk privately. So he can tell you everything.”

“Are you gonna be okay here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll be Gucci. I’ll just write some sappy bullshit and I’ll feel better.”

Eddie laughs a little. “Okay.” He gives Bill one last hug and leaves the apartment; gets in his car, and plugs in the directions to the apartment complex that Richie stays in. Now that he heard from Bill, he needs to hear from the other side of the stormy clouds. He just _needs_ to hear Richie tell him. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. 99 questions: go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would u fuckin believe that i’m updating this fic after 8 whole months
> 
> life and work and all this other shit just got in the way and this poor story just had to be put on the back burner. but i’m gonna finish it!!

It doesn’t take him too long to get to Richie’s

(and _Stan’s_ )

apartment—ironically enough, it’s only about ten minutes from the apartment complex that Bill stays in. It feels like every step is lead when he gets out of his car; every step is weighed down by air pressure, or some magical force—and he has to force himself to walk up the stairs. He’s so apprehensive. He already knows how this story goes; Bill literally just told him. So why? Why is he so nervous?

(because now I have to hear _Richie_ tell it)

[but isn’t that what he wanted?]

But he finally makes it up those stairs, finally makes it to Apartment 222. And that number feels haunting. 

He tries to ignore it.

Texting Richie and telling him to unlock the door doesn’t even have to happen—because on his way here, Eddie got another message from him that simply said

**Richie:** the door is open

Which seems unsafe—but Richie was probably so caught up in his own whirlwind of emotions that he didn’t even bother locking the door... that was probably the last thing on his mind. And thinking of Richie upset like that... it makes him sad like he wouldn’t believe.

He remembers the first day they met at Dixie’s—even though it was about half a year ago, it still feels fresh like yesterday—and how happy Richie looked; how even though it was raining hard and ugly outside, Richie still casted his own sunlight. He remembers how Richie spun in the chair and ate his food like he hadn’t eaten in years and how he footed the bill. He remembers how... how he...

How—

He’s stalling.

He opens the door. 

Before he even opens the door, he can hear something muffled and and vibrant on the other side, like Richie had turned on the TV, or was watching some movie. Whenever he opens the door, he can hear it sharp and loudly—it’s music, and even though Eddie is sure he’s never heard the song before, it sounds painfully familiar.

Eddie notices three things whenever he walks in the hallway leading to the bedrooms: 

1.) There is a label on each of the bedroom doors. The first one, in tall black print, in that familiar Led-Zeppelin-esque handwriting, says _Richie._ The second one, looking like the anthesis to the first—in small, loopy cursive 

(shit, he even _writes_ like me)

says _Stan._

2.) Stan’s door is slightly ajar, and the music is coming from there. It sounds like the recording of a concert. 

Richie’s in there. 

3.) Even over all of the music and talking, the loud screams and the cheering, he can hear Richie crying. 

He wants to be loud enough to not walk in the door unannounced and give Richie a scare, wants to be bright and firey and tell him _Richie bear, I know that this is hard for you, and you’re upset, but tell me what’s happening, and tell me right now..._ but weirdly, crazily, when he gets to the door, he finds that he can’t. He gives a few tentative knocks on the door, even though Richie can see him through the crack—and with his voice barely above a whisper, he calls out to him. “Rich?”

Richie’s voice comes through the crack. Even though it’s thick and warbled, Eddie can hear the smile in it. “Oh. Come in, baby.”

And when he comes in, he notices quite a few things all at once: Richie looks like a mess. His hair is even messier, which is a feat; he’s got eyeliner streaked all down his cheeks. He’s watching a recording of an STL concert. This is Stan’s room. It’s so clean and neat. There’s a bird on Richie’s shoulder. Eddie imagines that Richie’s room wouldn’t look like this at all. He’s never seen Richie’s room. He’s never even _been_ in this apartment before. 

He just wants to learn who Richie fully is.

“Sit down,” Richie says, patting the spot next to him—and even though he’s still crying a little, he thankfully sounds a lot like his usual self again. And when Eddie sits down, ironically, _crazily,_ the second thing Richie does is point to the bird and says: “This is Delaney. Wanna hold her?”

“Uh,” Eddie says, and blushes. He’s never held a bird before. Do they bite? Can they give you infections? “Nah babe, I’m good.”

“She’s _niiiice,_ ” Richie teases. “See, look—watch this.” Then, he looks to his shoulder. “C’mere, Laney, gimme a kiss.”

Delaney obliges. She puts her beak up to Richie’s cheek and makes a kissy sound. 

This is scaring Eddie a little. Richie can’t possibly be feeling better this soon. He knows Richie’s deal by now—whenever things get tough, or he has some emotions he doesn’t want to deal with, he uses bright smiles and humor to numb it out. In other words, he puts on a show. Eddie wonders now, with alarming dismay, if all of the behavior Richie shows is a facade and if he’s ever happy at all. 

He doesn’t even know where to start. So he reaffirms what he said in his message. “Baby, we need to talk. Like, we _really_ need to talk.”

“This is my favorite one,” Richie is rambling again, and points to the concert on the screen. He’s scooted closer to Eddie and even wraps his arms around him—and it _almost_ feels normal. All of this almost feels like him and his boyfriend getting more serious in their relationship; getting invited to his place for the first time. “This was one of the first performances that we ever did. We were _so_ nervous, baby. It was crazy! Stan did this really cool thing for me—here, look, I’ll rewind it for you. Here, watch this.”

Richie grabs the controller from the side of him, and starts the whole recording over from the beginning. STL is coming onstage—just Richie, Stan, Bill, and Mike—and everybody is clapping for them. 

Yeah, it’s all of them, sans Bev and Ben. That’s why they didn’t know too much of what was going on. It’s all of them... including Stan. 

And it’s so weird, seeing him there. Seeing him smile, hearing him _talk—_ learning things about Stan, and remembering that he’ll never get to meet him. Knowing that he’s not here anymore. 

“Um, hi,” Stan says on the video—and in Eddie’s hyper-fixation, he realizes that Stan’s voice is a _lot_ deeper than he was expecting. It’s maybe an octave higher than Mike’s, which is surprising. “Um. We’re STL. The Star Crossed Losers. And we’re gonna play some songs from an album we’re making. It’s called _Sick Sad World_.”

Everybody cheers some more, and Stan waits for the crowd to still. Even on video, Eddie can see the blush dusted on Stan’s cheeks. He seems nervous. 

“Here it is!” Richie exclaims—and he sounds so giddy and excited, like he’s never seen this footage before. Or he’s watching it for only the second time.

“This first song we’re gonna play is called _‘_ Richie _’._ For this guy right here.” Stan points to his right and at Richie, who sticks out his lip and puts his hands to his chest dramatically. “He’s my very bestest friend.” The crowd coos and awws. 

(this is so...)

(I don’t know)

(get back to what you came here for)

“Richie,” Eddie finally says, a little louder—but he seems fixated on the screen. He calls him again, and then again

_(“Richie!”)_

until he  snaps out of his daze and looks down at him, seemingly actually not having heard him at all. “Huh? What’s up, baby?”

Eddie will play his game. He’ll put on a show too, to get to the truth. “99 Questions: Go.”

Richie smiles a little, showing just a glimmer of his teeth—and with him smiling like that, black tear marks streaked on his face, Stan singing in the background, Eddie can’t back out now. 

“Why did you lie to me?”

And now Richie’s smile gets completely wiped off his face; he’s completely backed into a corner—by his own rules, he can’t lie now, even if he wanted to. Those are the rules; the rules that Richie made with his dear sister, when they were just little kids. He looks like a rabbit caught in a snare. 

“Hey, Spaghetti Head,” he says, but there’s no joking inflections in his voice at all, “let me tell you a story.”

“Beep beep, Rich. What does this have to do with—”

“Once Upon a Time,” Richie starts, “there were two princes. Richard and Stanley. But they just went by Richie and Stan. They were so close, Eddie—” Richie’s voice breaks a little. “— _so_ fucking close. They did _everything_ together. They’ve been best friends since they were seven.

Well, Richie had all the good times and could make people laugh; Stan had the wits and all the good plans. They balanced each other out. Kept each other in line.” He nods a little, as if confirming this to himself, as well. 

“Stan was super special. And, uh, life tends to make the smart and special ones go through the worst pain. Stan had a lot going on...” Richie points to his own temple. “...Up here. He suffered from depression. He had OCD. And he was thinking all the time. Just a lot of stuff. But he handled it... great, I _thought_. He went to therapy, Eddie. He had a psychiatrist. It completely... it completely blindsided me.

Well, one night, I get a call. It’s good ole Stan the Man. And before I even answered that phone, I _knew_ something wasn’t right. He was drunk. Like, _really_ drunk. And he was crying, begging me to help him, telling me he made a mistake, he ‘didn’t want to do it anymore’. He...” Richie shakes his head a little. “He wanted me and Mike to hold his hand.”

He shakes his head again. Even though Richie only pauses for a couple minutes, to Eddie, it feels like a couple of years. He grabs Richie’s hand and squeezes it. Richie squeezes back.

“What happened next, baby?”

“I get in the car,” Richie continues. “I get in the car and I drive over there. I’m speeding. He had been over his parents’ house. I call Mike. Mike tells me he’s almost there. We get there at like, the same time—‘cause when I got there, the first thing I saw and heard was Mike getting out his truck, and he was screaming. Screaming and crying. I’ve never heard anybody scream like that before. And that’s whenever I saw it.”

“Saw what, baby? The police?”

“Yeah. And the ambulance. And the yellow tape. Mike and I were both trying to go in and help him, but they wouldn’t let us. And then they brought him out in a body bag... that’s whenever _I_ started screaming and crying. Mike and I held each other and we just, y’know, screamed and cried together.”

Eddie, again, is at a loss for words—the way that Richie is telling the story feels like he’s reliving the events all over again. So Eddie figures he doesn’t need to say anything... hopefully the closeness is enough. 

He wraps his arms around Richie and hugs him. Hugs him as tight as he can.

Richie breaks into fresh tears. 

“We didn’t get there in time, Eddie,” he says, and his breathing is quick and hitched to take in air, “we couldn’t save him. He called Mike first, and he told him that he got into a fight with his parents and then got really drunk, and how he was done. And Mike asked him done with what, and he said... he said Stan said, ‘With _all of this,_ Mikey.’ And laughed. He slit his wrists, and then, as he was fading in and out, he changed his mind. And called me.”

Eddie knows he doesn’t need to say much, he just rubs circles on Richie’s back and rocks them side-to-side—but he does want to ask one question. One that Richie hinted at earlier

_(“They killed him!”)_.

He whispers in Richie’s ear: “Where were his parents?”

_“They went out to dinner!”_ Richie wails—and he shouts it with such intensity that Eddie almost recoils from him. “They went out to dinner while Stan was bleeding out in the tub! They _left_ him there! He died scared and cold and alone. They could’ve dialed 911! If they were there... they could’ve... _he could still be here!_ ”

And then Richie seemingly curls his whole body into him, burying his face in the crook of his neck and clutching at the sides of his shirt. But Eddie doesn’t mind—he hugs him back, hugs him as tight as he can, trying to show Richie how much he cares for him, 

( _loves_ him),

is there for him. 

“I wish I could’ve saved him, Eddie,” Richie stammers out—but he’s barely able to in between all the sobs. “I couldn’t save him, it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my—”

“No, it isn’t,” Eddie says, gentle but firm. “It isn’t your fault. It isn’t Bill’s, it isn’t Mike’s. Now, I don’t know much about Stan, but I’m sure he would _hate_ to see you blaming yourself like this. I can tell he loved the hell out of you guys. And he wants you to go on with the band, and to be happy. I _know_ he wants that for all of you.”

Richie looks up at him. His glasses as crooked, his lip is quivering, his eyes are wide and innocent in his face. 

He shakes his head slowly, before he says: “I didn’t mean what I said to Bill.”

“I know you didn’t,” Eddie says back, and smiles. “And he didn’t mean what he said to _you,_ either. You guys are all just hurting still. And that’s okay.”

“Does he hate me?” 

“No, dumbass. Why would he tell me that he didn’t mean what he said if he hated you?”

Richie smiles, even chuckles a little. Eddie smiles and laughs with him. 

“Okay,” Richie says—and even though he says so with a sigh, he seems like he’s composed himself a little. “99 Questions: Go.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Hey, you started it first,” Richie quips back, and he actually breaks out into a little tilt of laughter. 

Eddie sighs—but it’s half-hearted. They always are. “Okay, fine, what is it?”

“You’re such a cutie,” Richie starts out, but his smile disappears again from his face. “The cutest dude I’ve ever met, and I’m not even saying that to blow your head up. So why are you with a guy like me? You can get literally any guy you want. So why me? I’m not good for you. I’m so fucked up.”

“Because I want _you_ , Richie,” he tells him. And it’s truthful. Of course it is. Even though this is a silly child’s game, there is an unspoken rule between the two of them that they take the game gravely seriously. “I’ve _always_ wanted you. Since the day you came in Dixie’s soaking fucking wet. I don’t care if you’re fucked up, or whatever you think. I’m fucked up, too. I’ve got problems too, baby. But that’s okay. We can have problems together.” 

And they don’t say anything to each other for the rest of the night—Richie just gives him the first full-on, genuine smile of the night, and pulls them in closer, pulls them backwards on Stan’s bed to where they’re both laying down. He doesn’t realize how tired he was—and apparently, Richie didn’t realize the same thing about himself, either—because they fall asleep, minutes later, noses touching, as STL finishes their performance on the video. 

They would work it out together. 

But that’s only the _first_ half of the problems.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delaney: (Eddie, do you want your kiss now?)


	9. crybaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t stan melanie martinez but...... it’s my party i can cry if i want to amirite?

The storms in Maine have turned to rain, and the rain has turned to snow.

It seems like Richie has done a 180.

He’s actually up before Eddie is even awake—which is surprising, seeing that this is the best sleep that Eddie has gotten in months, and that Richie’s not a morning person at all. But when he wakes up, he’s in a completely different room

( _Richie’s_ room), 

under black and red blankets, and Richie is up and about—singing to himself, rummaging through his closet. He’s fully dressed. The outfit that he has on looks so strikingly familiar, that for a second, Eddie thinks it’s the outfit Richie wore when they first met. He’s close—but that’s not where he knows it from.

“Rise and shine, baby!” Richie chirps once he realizes he’s awake. He’s got on all black, which isn’t out of the ordinary at all—but he’s got on a metal headband and golden body glitter. And that’s when Eddie realizes where he’s seen that outfit from: it’s the same one that Richie is wearing on his phone wallpaper. 

Richie is still digging through his closet, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. “We’ve been dating for 48 years and I _finally_ woke up before you. I consider that a win.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you think that,” Eddie says, smiling himself, and yawns. “What’s got you up so early, anyway?”

“We’re gonna go visit Stan,” Richie responds, and his voice is a mix of happy and serious and very sad. “You don’t have to come if you don’t wanna. Like, if it makes you uncomfortable, I mean.”

“No, it’s not that, I just—I just... didn’t know if I could come along or not,” Eddie says, and blushes at his own admission. His eyes shift everywhere all at once. “I didn’t think it was my place, y’know.”

“Aww, don’t be like _that!_ ” Richie exclaims. He looks back and flashes him a smile that seems bright and genuine. “I’d actually prefer it if you do. For moral support. In case I get the willies.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay, baby.”

 

The ride isn’t as heavy and ominous as he thought it’d be. Richie easily and obviously squashes out the lulls in conversation; nimbly fits through any gaps. He’s talking in that loud and rattly way he does when he’s nervous.In other words: it’s just a bunch of rambling. But it’s stories about him and Stan. Them and Mike and Bill. Things about Delaney. She was Stan’s parrot. Stories that Eddie has never been able to hear before—and he feels _exalted_ that Richie feels comfortable enough to tell him. Stories that make him feel like he has a better comprehension of who Richie is as a friend; who he is as a person. He feels honored.

But one of the things that Richie says, that stick out the most is:

“Stan loves the snow.” And then, with a frown or a grimace or a look that Eddie can’t really place: “Stan _loved_ the snow.” And talking about him like that is probably Richie’s own special way of healing.

Eddie can already spot the rest of the Loser’s cars (and Mike’s truck) by the time that him and Richie make it there—so they trek in the snow, with Richie leading, until they make it to a little plot of land and Stan’s headstone. This is it. This dirt is the only thing separating Eddie from Richie’s best friend; the closest thing he ever got to a little brother. It fills Eddie full with a weird feeling. 

He doesn’t think he likes it.

“Heya, strangers,” Bill says to them, coolly enough, when they join the group. But then, he suddenly leans forward and pulls Richie into a hug—one that’s strong, but tender and tight. “I... um, I’m sorry, Rich.”

“Me too, Bill,” Richie mumbles back, into Bill’s shoulder-blade. Eddie imagines that the both of them are pretending that Stan is smiling.

They hug like this for a good while—but when they let go, Bill asks: “So, which one of you guys wanna go first?”

Eddie knows what he means: everybody in the Loser’s Club showed up and wrote Stan a little letter. Just a joke, or something that they wish they could let him know if they had the time, or just anything they’ve ever wanted to say. Beverly actually steps up and goes first.

“Okay! I’ve got it,” she says, and Eddie can see that her cheeks are red. “Uhh... Ahem! 

Dear Stan,

I only got to meet you once or twice, but I really liked you. You made such a big impact on my life in just that short period of time. That’s how I _know_ you’re amazing. See you on the other side, man.

Love, Bev.”

Everybody is silent—Bev with her dusted cheeks; everybody else’s eyes on their shoes or hands or the grass or wherever else. Mike is the one to break the silence next.

“Stanny Manny—my turtle dove, my cinnamon-bun fun... I just want you to know that I _really_ miss you. Rest in Love.  _Everlasting_ love. Life just ain’t the same without you, baby.”

As Ben is saying his piece, Bill rubs Mike’s back, and Richie puts his head on his shoulder—because Mike’s shoulders had heaved. But only twice.

“Uh, Stan, do you remember when you first met Bev and I, and we talked about the math that goes behind making buildings for, like, an hour?” Ben laughs. Everyone is smiling. “You were a cool dude, man. Rest in Power.”

It’s Bill’s turn next. “You know, it’s hard going through life now believing in a god when He takes all of the good ones. You were one of the good ones, Lil Bro. The _really_ good ones. I love you.” 

Eddie decides to go next. He realizes, a little too late, that he’s blushing, too. “Hey, Stan... I never got to meet you—but I see how happy you make my friends, and how happy you make my boyfriend. I really think we could’ve been friends, too.” He smiles a little. “Maybe in a different life.”

And Richie is last. Even though his fists are balled up at his sides and his lip quivers, he doesn’t cry. 

“Stan the Man! You have _no_ idea how much I miss you, and it doesn’t really get better at all. I wanna break down, man—but this will be the last time that I cry over this, because I know that you would feel bad if I cried over you forever. The band’s still going strong. I know that would make you happy. We keep it up partly because it’s fun, but mostly because it’s a little part of you. Rest easy. I love you. And I think you would want this.

Long live STL.”

Richie reaches into his bag and pulls out a metal headband identical to his—one that him and Stan wore in the picture; one with the lights built in, that say _★_ _.t.l._ Bill and Bev brought balloons, and they tie the end of the headband to the balloon strings. Then, they let the balloons fly off into the air... and Eddie hopes that Stan will be able to wear his headband in space, or Heaven, or wherever good people go. 

* * *

The holidays go by in a flurry—and with a sense of guilt, Eddie realizes that he’s never had this much fun during the holidays in his entire life. He feels warm, and at home, and with a special sense of belonging. He thought he would just spend a couple of weeks away from his mom, and then drive back home once it all blew over. But no—he actually _really_ likes Derry; he loves the close-knit community and the family that he’s found here, in the Loser’s Club.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever leave. 

He spends Christmas with the Losers, three days after Stan’s birthday—and they all made special ornaments for Bill’s Christmas tree; ornaments with each of their seven names on them. They celebrate New Years’, where they all get a little drunk (or a _lot_ drunk. Bill and Ben made out for two hours—and when they sobered up, they were both _mortified_ ), and laugh a little. Him and Richie get to celebrate their first Valentine’s Day together, and Eddie realizes that it’s the first Valentine’s Day that he gets to spend with a boyfriend.

Richie gets him this huge bear that’s, quite literally, just as tall as Eddie is... and that makes the latter furrow his eyebrows into a hard line.

“This is cute, Rich. But what the hell?”

Richie’s eyes flash bright and jovial. “What, you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t like it. It’s just... where the hell am I supposed to put this?”

“In your bed, silly!” And when Richie says this next part, he grins and pinches Eddie’s cheeks until he’s forced to stop. “Just cuddle with it when you’re alone, and imagine it’s me.”

They get to celebrate Richie’s birthday on March 8th, and Eddie decides to go to old-school and buy him jewelry. He’s never really seen Richie wear dangly necklaces, which is what his first thought is to get him—but Richie’s flashy enough to maybe like it. He, at first, opts for their names.

But is that _too_ flashy? He opts for their initials instead. 

“So, I’ve got two surprises for you,” Eddie is telling him. Instead of his metal headband, now Richie has got on one of those gaudy plastic ones; the ones with bright, colorful letters that say, _Happy Birthday!._ Richie smiles. 

“Plane tickets to New York to meet your folks? Aww babe, you _shouldn’t_ have.”

“No, dumbass. Not even close. I wouldn’t wish the misfortune of meeting my mom onto you, and my dad is dead.”

Richie winces, gives a nervous laugh. “Damn. I’m sorry, babe.”

“ _Aww_. Don’t apologize,” Eddie tells him. “I’m not upset. But I think you’ll actually like these surprises. Well... I hope so, anyway.”

“Eek! You know I hate surprises,” Richie reiterates, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it. He’s bouncing up and down in Eddie’s passenger seat. “But lemme guess what it is. Seventy-two virgins? Your firstborn child? Your mortal soul? Your eternal love?Your—”

Eddie pulls out two boxes, long and slim and rectangular, and hands places one of them in Richie’s hands. When he reaches for the second one as well, Eddie swats his hand away. “Nuh-uh. This one’s for _me_.”

“Oh!” Richie says, simply enough. His eyes are two large and magnified dinner-plates. “ _Eds!_ What is this?”

“God. You know I _hate_ that ‘Eds’ shit... but in since it’s your birthday, I’ll let it slide.”

“Aww, my love! So generous,” Richie is grinning and snickering until he sees the gift after taking the padding out of the box. Then his smile dissipates, a little. “Eddie. Wait. What is this?”

“It’s a necklace,” Eddie says, laughs a little. “Do you not like it?”

Richie is grinning again. “No, I _do! Please_ tell me yours’ is an R.” 

“It is,” Eddie says, and he hadn’t noticed, until Richie grins even wider, that he was blushing. “I thought we could be like those obnoxious couples who have, like, matching shirts or something.”

“Oh, my Darling! Oh, how I was right that I’ve won your everlasting love!” Richie wails. Then, a lot more seriously (even with a smile still plastered on his face), he says: “I’ll be obnoxious with you any day.”

“Good,” Eddie says—and he’s not lying; it actually is a weight lifted off his shoulders. “I’m glad. Because you wanna know what your second surprise is?”

“What’s that, babydoll?”

“It’s that I love you.”

And he can’t really gauge Richie’s reaction to this, with his eyes wide and full of non-joking surprise, his mouth gaped open, finally at a loss for words for once in his life... until Richie starts to blush a _fantastically_ bright shade of his favorite color. 

 

“I’ve got a couple surprises for _you,_ too,” Richie is saying later, with _all types_ of flirty inflections, as they’re getting dressed for his birthday dinner. 

Eddie’s always been the type of person that’s more low-key—so he dresses in jeans and a sweater-vest over a button-down shirt. Richie, however, dresses in skinny jeans, as usual, and a tie-dye Pink Floyd shirt. He’s also doing his signature thing: sharp-winged eyeliner and body glitter. 

“Why did you get _me_ a surprise?” Eddie asks him. “It’s _your_ birthday.” And Richie smirks and winks, but he doesn’t dignify him with a response.

The dinner goes great. Everybody sings for Richie and him and Bill put aside their pissing contest for a day and the waiter brings him free dessert. And everybody notices Eddie’s gift glittering from both his and Richie’s necks. 

“R and E?” Bill teases. “You guys really _are_ disgusting.”

“You’re just jealous that Ben didn’t get _you_ a necklace,” Richie quips back. Bill blushes a little. They’re both all smiles. Which everybody is happy about, seeing that all of the tension from before Stan’s birthday seems to have vanished completely. 

“I wouldn’t want one anyway,” Bill says. “We have the same initial, dumbass. It wouldn’t work.”

“Well, it could—we could get our first _and_ last initials,” Ben chimes in—then, realizing he’s just digging them in an even deeper hole, blushes and holds his hands up in defense. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

Everybody laughs. It’s fun. 

It’s _so_ fun.

 

They actually go back to Richie’s apartment after dinner. It’s really good; now that all of the tensions are out of the air, they come here all the time. Eddie has familiarized himself with everything in Richie’s room now, from the posters of numerous musicians on his walls to his many guitars. They’re both sitting on his bed when Eddie remembers 

(“I have a couple of surprises for _you_ , too”)

what Richie said earlier. 

“You were just kidding when you said you had surprises for me, right?” He asks. 

And it’s so interesting—Richie looks at him and flashes a weird smirk at him that Eddie has never seen before. “I was just _waiting_ for you to bring it back up,” Richie says, in those teasing inflections again—

(that’s _so_ hot)

and, just like after they got caught on the roof of the Motel 6, _Richie_ straddles _his_ lap; wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “I’m _so_ glad you remembered, honeybun.”

“Um.” Eddie is the one donning that particularly bright shade of red now. They’ve been dating for almost eight months—of course they’ve fooled around before... but they’ve never made it as far as Richie seems willing to take it. “Uh... me too, I guess?”

Richie snickers. “Are you _nervous?_ ”

“No? Yeah? Okay, maybe. A little. It depends on what the surprises are.”

“Well, the first surprise is that I love you, too,” Richie tells him, and places a little kiss on his lips—and the huskiness in his voice is making pent up energy go through Eddie in waves. “The _second_ surprise though, Dear Edward, is what I have on underneath.”

Eddie shakes his head. His brain physically does _not_ allow him to process what he just heard. “Huh?”

Richie is grinning again. He’s got that same giddiness in his voice that he did whenever he was in Stan’s room, watching the old recording. “Here! I’ll show you!”

And whenever he pulls that tie-dye shirt over his head, Eddie sees that 

_ (oh my god)  _

Richie’s wearing a leather harness... and, when he shimmies off his skinny jeans, matching leather underwear. 

There are so many things that Eddie wants to say, that he wants to do 

_ (I wanna ravage you) _

but _he’s_ the one this time that’s at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes, opens and closes—and finally he gets out a fragment of a sentence. “Richie... I...”

“Do you _liiiike_ it?” Richie asks him, sweetly enough, seductively enough, that it finally snaps Eddie out of his paralysis.

“Yes. _Fuck yes._ Yeah, I do.” 

And Richie does that cute thing where he smiles and crinkles his nose, and his eyes are two little half-moons. “Well, what are you gonna do to me?”

(a _lot_ )

Eddie thinks. And he shows him. And he lets Richie moan and groan—this time with no theatrics—all night. 

 

From the slit-open blinds on Richie’s window, the moon never seemed so bright. 

They’re in Richie’s bed together; Richie is laying on his back, and Eddie is laying on top, with his head on his chest. It’s amazing to him. To think that all of last year felt like he was trapped in that bell-jar; to remember that the middle of last year, he drove seven hours away from home to a Motel 6. To think that he ran away, ran for the moon—and he bumped right into the best people he’s ever met in his life. That’s he’s never felt this _happy_ in his life. He has never felt this complete. He ran for the moon, he chased it—but what he didn’t know is that he was going to catch him so soon. 

The only thing that he really misses about New York, the unchanging source of his homesickness, is Maria. It startled Eddie a little when Richie told him how long him and Stan had been best friends—because him and Maria have been best friends since they were seven as well. 

Seven seems to be a magical number.

He talks to her everyday. And with being able to text her, and talk on FaceTime with her, and to laugh and carry on like they’ve always have, makes that one little ping of homesickness go away. He just wishes there was some way to convince Maria to come up to Maine with him and Richie and the Loser’s Club. But Maria is a large-scale gal, obsessed with bright lights and bustling cities... she would never settle for Maine.

Or maybe she _would_ , for a couple of days.

Because today, he’s heard radio silence from her. And he gets it—she’s a full-time nursing student with a job and other friends, and maybe she got busy. He had sent her a text earlier today, telling her that he hoped she had a good day, and that he did; it was Richie’s birthday. He’s so happy, he added at the end. And he hadn’t heard from her all day, until tonight—right as his eyes were getting heavy, right he was swimming in between the seas of consciousness and sleep. His phone dings, and he looks at it, and the message startles him so much that it wakes him up completely. 

**Maria ♥:** Eddie something’s wrong. Really wrong. I’m at this Motel 6 by this restaurant

**Maria ♥:** Can u meet me there in the morning? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill: *sees the outlining of that harness through Richie’s shirt*  
> Bill: *fucking GAGS*


	10. two princes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *tw for slurs!*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome again to toby’s late night uploads
> 
> dvjskskak it took me all day to write this angsty shit

Eddie wakes up at 6:30—and it’s just one of those situations where all the cards end up being lined out of his favor.

Those texts that he got from Maria have kept him up all night. What does she mean that something’s ’really wrong’? Is she okay? Why the hell is she in Maine? In order to find out, it seems that he has to—in a fit of irony—loop right back to where he started when he first got here.

He sees the pale sunlight trying to creep through Richie’s blinds—and he actually hopes this time that the latter’s aversion to being awake so early in the morning _does_ work in his favor. But it doesn’t. Of _course_ it doesn’t. Because he tries to sneak out of that apartment, and Richie stirs and wakes up and says (teasingly): “Where ya going, baby?”

Against his better judgment, he tells Richie the truth. And when he looks back on this later, he almost wishes that he could’ve said something, _anything_ , that made Richie not want to follow him. But in hindsight, he figures that wouldn’t have worked, anyway—the cards were already stacked to make this the worst day of his life.

Besides,

(“why did you lie to me?”)

he can’t lie to Richie. He knows what it feels like to be lied to. They’ve been being transparent lately. They’ve been doing so well. 

So he tells him. “Maria texted me yesterday.” 

“Oh, how _unexpected_ ,” Richie replies, a smile already lighting up his face. “What did she say? Did she—”

“She’s here in Derry.”

That beautiful, lit-up smile fades off Richie’s face completely. He furrows up his eyebrows in genuine confusion—and he says: “Huh? Why?”

“I dunno,” Eddie answers 

(truthfully)

with a frown. “She just said that something’s ‘really wrong’. She wants to meet me at that Motel 6. Y’know, the one by Dixie’s. So I gotta go see what it is.”

“I’ll go with you,” Richie tells him—and before Eddie is able to yell or stop him or even process what he said, he’s throwing on ripped jeans and black boots and a Nirvana t-shirt... and he’s smiling wide again, and Eddie can’t

[remember where he’s worn that outfit]

bear to tell him no.

* * *

The ride to the Motel 6 almost feels normal—Eddie and Richie are both uncharacteristically talkative today. Not only for car-rides like this, where the one whose driving is less interested in small-talk and more interested on the road, but also seeing the fact that Richie _hates_ being awake this early in the morning. Richie’s driving them; it’s so eerily nostalgic, so eerily reminiscent of some other event

(wasn’t he driving on our first date?).

It almost feels normal, he almost forgets the danger looming ahead... until he sees Maria’s car in the parking lot, and all of his anxiety comes back to smack him—vividly, crystal-clear—in the face.

She’s already standing outside.

“She’s pretty,” Richie chirps, amazingly enough—but even though he’s still smiling and cheery, Eddie can feel anxious energy coming off him in waves as well. They barely even have time to step out of the car and close the doors before Maria is on them. 

“I don’t have much time, I think, so I’ll try to talk quick,” she says (which already makes Eddie’s anxieties go into overdrive). “But before that,” she adds—and suddenly pulls Richie into a hug that makes her have to stand on her tip toes, and she smiles into the nook of his collarbone, _amazingly enough_ — “thanks for making Eddie so happy.”

“Who? Me?” Richie asks, faux surprise dripping from his voice—and he’s smiling, too. “I owe all of that to you.”

Then she lets him go, and she’s talking again, with her accent from the Bronx that’s even thicker than Eddie’s from Queens. “Okay,” she says, her hands up in the air. “Here’s what I heard: I heard that your mom went to the cops right after you left, and filed a missing person’s report. But the cops basically came to me and asked if I knew where you were. And I told them yes. That you were safe.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. He doesn’t like where this is going. “Did they tell my mom?”

“Nuh-uh,” Maria says, and shakes her head. “I told them you didn’t _want_ her to know where you were. And in since you’re over the age of 18, and not in danger, she’s not obligated to know where you are. Telling her that went about as well as you think. So she’s trying to vigilante it. She followed you here. She’s looking for you. _God_ , I hope I beat her here.”

All of the wind and and hope and good feeling gets knocked out of Eddie’s body. “Oh, God, this is _terrible,_ ” he says. “Oh my god, what the fuck do we _do?_ ”

Maria says it simply. Sadly. “We have to leave.”

Oh, but only if leaving were so simple. He has friends here, a job here, a boyfriend here. A _life_ here. He shakes his head slowly; hugs himself with both of his arms like he used to do when he was a little kid 

(“Mommy, I’m scared”)

and he used to cry and seek out the warmth and comfort of his mother.

“Mary, I can’t,” he tells her. “All my stuff’s at Ben and Bev’s. Like, my laptop, all my clothes—”

“You can buy new clothes,” Maria says. “Or we can come back for it. And get your laptop, too. I’m sure they’ll understand. _Please_ , Eddie—we’ve gotta go.”

Richie opens his mouth to speak. “I mean, I can always—”

But that’s whenever they all close their mouths and keep them closed; even though Richie has never seen what his mother’s car looks like, he already knows that it’s Eddie’s mother pulling into the Motel 6.

She gets out of the car, slowly and deliberately (and her not being able to get out any quicker than what she does makes it even more ominous). Her face is contorted into almost a grimace; her eyes are two glimmering flames. For a while, she just stares at them. At Eddie. _Through_ him.

Maria is the first one to break their stunned silence. She whispers: “I’m calling the cops.”

Eddie sees her long hair whip over her shoulders out of his peripheral vision. She’s on the phone, still trying to whisper, still trying to keep her voice down so his mother doesn’t hear her. 

And then his mother speaks. “So, you dragged me all the way out here for _this,_ Eddie bear? A slut and a queer?”

Eddie looks around again; looks around at everything. He sees Maria, whispering into the phone. His mother, looking wide and alert and feral. Richie, who scares him the most, because he looks frozen in fear—and Eddie has seen him display every other emotion that he can think of, but never _fear._

Mother is rambling now, seemingly performing a soliloquy in a Shakespearean tragedy. “A slut and a queer, Eddie, are you serious? Making me waste all my gas for this. After all I’ve done for you! This is _unbelievable_. After all I’ve done for you, and this is how you repay me. Your _mother_. You... you ungrateful little brat.”

Eddie finally snaps out of his own paralysis—out of anger. He’s not even mad at the slurs or the accusations. He’s mad because he’s finally made himself a life outside of her, is finally _happy_ outside of her, without her, and she has to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong and _ruin_ it. He hardens his eyes at her.

“Stop it, Ma. _Jesus_. You’re being ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ being ridiculous?” she all but yells. “I think the only person being ridiculous here is _you,_ Eddie. Running all the way out here by yourself, without your mother, risking getting hurt or killed.” She sneers. “Ridiculous and naive.”

“Seriously, stop with that. That shit won’t work on me anymore.” 

“And why won’t it?” Mother questions. “Why won’t it, Eddie? Oh, I know why. It’s because you have all of these negative influences, all of these _distractions_ , in your life.”

And, in a sickeningly sharp sense of clarity, Eddie sees his mother reach into her pocket, her breath still dancing in the air from the lingering winter chill, and pull something out of that pocket—it’s shiny, glimmering, just like her teeth when she smiles. 

“I’ll help you, Eddie. I’ll get rid of those distractions in your life.”

And he hears one last broken sentence from Maria—this one not so hushed and quiet—

(“Please hurry; she’s got a gun— _oh, my God!_ ”)

before his ears are ringing from the sound of the shot.

It’s Richie she shoots. 

“There! One of the distractions is gone, Eddie!” Mother is saying, and she sounds so disgustingly giddy and pleased with herself that Eddie thinks, in different circumstances, he could strangle her to death right now. But all the fight goes out of him. He drops to his knees on the pavement. He seems to revert back to a little boy. He

(seeks out the warmth and comfort of his mother)

looks up at her with wide eyes and asks: “Mommy, why did you _do_ that?” 

She looks back at him and smiles. “It’s okay, Eddie bear. I did it to _protect_ you. I did it for your own good. Because you’re just so sweet and fragile. And naive. You don’t know what’s best for you. I do. Come back home with Mommy, sweetie.”

He hears Maria audibly screaming; he hears himself screaming inwardly

(no no no no this can’t be happening no no please god _NO_ )

instead.

“Richie?” he asks. He _hates_ that his voice still has that little boy quality. He doesn’t realize that he’s begun to cry. He shakes him. “Richie

(bear)?”

“I’m okay!” Richie tells him, and he’s smiling—but oh, does his voice sound so detached and far away. “It’s okay.”

Eddie can tell from his voice, can tell from all the blood and the glassy look in Richie’s eyes, that he’s _not_ okay. He takes off his jacket and his cardigan and presses his cardigan hard against Richie’s chest. “Baby, you’re bleeding everywhere; we’ve gotta get you—”

But Richie is speaking again. Even though he’s still smiling, it sounds like every word is a struggle for him. “The two princes... they meet back up in the end... so it’s okay.”

_“No!”_ he screams at him 

(“I’ve never heard anybody scream like that before”).

“ _Stop it,_ Richie! Don’t talk like that! You’re gonna be alright!”

“It’s okay, Eddie,” Richie tells him again. Even though he’s still smiling, his eyes stream with tears. “I’m happy. At least I got to meet you.”

_“Stop it!”_ he screams again—and now he _does_ realize he’s crying. “Stop it, Rich, you’re scaring me, _please stop!_ ”

“It’s no good,” Mother’s voice floats up from above them—and for a moment, Eddie feels anger shoot through him, brief and flaring. “He’s dead already. None of that crying is going to save him. Now get off the ground, Eddie, you’ll get sick, let’s just go—”

“Stan, if you’re out there,” Eddie is babbling, “if you’re out there, listen to me! _You can’t have him!_ You can have him way later, but not now! He has to stay here with _me!_ He belongs here with _me!_ You can’t have him, I need him; I _love_ him!” 

Maybe Mother is right 

~~ (Mother knows best) ~~

because Richie’s eyes are rolling back and fluttering shut. “I’m scared, baby,” he whispers. Black tears run down the sides of his face. “ _Really_ scared. Please hold my hand.” 

He grabs Richie’s hand and squeezes it. Richie squeezes back. Faintly.

_So_ faintly. 

And that’s whenever he finally sees and hears them: the police sirens, and the ambulance 

(and the yellow tape),

and he hopes, he prays, to Stan or space or whatever god may be out there in the great beyond, that they made it in time 

(“We couldn’t save him!”).

And even as the cops come and put handcuffs on his mother (something he thought he would never, _ever_ see in his life, because Mother knows best, Mother is infinite), she’s still cooing and smiling her twisted sweet smile. “ _One_ distraction, Eddie,” she says as she’s guided into the back of the police car. “I got rid of _one_ distraction. I’ll be back for the other.”

The paramedics come. Eddie moves a little to give them room. There’s a pretty, black, female paramedic who has the sweet cadence of Mike; there’s a male paramedic with her, tall and brunet with blue eyes, that looks a lot like Bill. The male paramedic puts two fingers up to Richie’s neck; nods at his partner. “Hey, man, stay with us,” he says to Richie—and he even 

(writes like me)

 _sounds_ like Bill.

“What’s your name?” the lady asks. She doesn’t get an answer at first—so she gently and patiently taps Richie’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy, what’s your name?”

“Richard,” he mumbles. 

“Hey, Richard!” she says. She smiles. “Can I call you Richie?”

“Yeah... that’s what all my friends call me...”

“We’re gonna have to cut that shirt off you, Richie,” she tells him, “so we can pack that wound up real nice. Okay?”

“Sucks,” the guy says. “It’s a _really_ nice shirt.”

Richie smiles a little.

And suddenly, Eddie looks from him to her to him again and asks, again in that boy-like quality: “Is he gonna be okay?”

“I think he’s gonna he just fine,” the lady says, and suddenly both her and her partner are looking straight at Eddie—which he blushes despite everything. He almost wants to shy away from their gaze. “What’s your name?” she asks. 

“Eddie,” he tells her. “I’m his 

(“little”)

boyfriend.” 

And maybe Stan _was_ listening, wherever he is. Because it seems like 

(“Yeah, he’s gonna be _just_ fine, Eddie. All because you”)

him and Eddie have come to an unspoken agreement, even from realms away. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. dentists + the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he was scared of pretty boys and starting conversations 
> 
> MOST of these chapter titles are gonna be song refs goddamn it ;-)

He was listening to Eddie, alright. Because

_ Richie is thrust out from the blue and into the black. _

_ He doesn’t know where he is—just that his Eddie was screaming and crying because he had told him the truth _

(“I’m scared, baby”)...

_he was_ finally _telling him the truth. And now, there’s nothing but black all around him. He just knows that it’s dark; he crosses his arms over his chest and clatters his teeth because it’s cold. He just knows that he sees someone walking towards him, like his own shadow—his arms are crossed; he’s got a metal headband buried in his hair; there’s a light behind his head like a halo._

_ And Richie already knows who it is _

(Stan!)

_ of course he does. And Stan says something to him—something small that he may not remember; _

(hey, Rich)

_ but he says it as he brushes curls out of his face, with a little half-smile. _

_ But him being here with Stan means that he’s dead, right? Dead or dying. Well, that’s okay. Right? Because the two princes are supposed to meet up in the end.  _

_He asks him a question_

(Stan, where the hell _are_ _we,_ man? what are we doing here?)

_and then reaches out to try and touch him—but Stan pulls away so sharply that he feels like he did something wrong._

(stop! don’t touch me! not yet. I don’t know if it’ll fuck something up)

(please, Stan, I don’t understand—)

_He tries to talk to him, but the words get caught on his lips and die there. Stan peeks up at him from behind the curls, looks down, looks to the side._

(what _happened_ , Richie? you’re not supposed to be here yet)

_What happened to him? He just remembers that he was with his Eddie; they had a good time, he had a good birthday. And Eddie was going to leave, so he followed him. Then what?_

(I got shot) 

_[right?]_

(what?) 

_Yeah, that_ is _right. Isn’t it? He’ll follow his Eddie to the ends of the earth, so he followed him. And ~~his mother-in-law~~_ _Eddie’s mom was there._ She _shot him. It’s kinda funny, really. Even despite the wideness of Stan’s eyes, he still feels the giggles bubbling up to the surface of him._

(aww, don’t look like that. It’s really not a big deal) 

(what the fuck do you _mean_ , ‘it’s not a big deal’? you got fucking _shot_ )

(same ole Stan the Man I see. Bill and Mike will be happy about that)

_Even in death, Stan stands tall and proper—but has a big personality. And he still has that softness about him;_

(Bill... Mikey...) 

_still has those sensibilities about him._

(yep! that is—if I ever _get_ to tell them, darling. so riddle me this: am I gonna die?)

_Because the way that Stan handles everything, in the life_ and _the afterlife, is just so neat and eloquent_

(no. you’re not. not if _I_ can help it, anyway)

(what? why not? oh, don’t you miss my charm?)

(haha. of course. but don’t you know how much that’d hurt our friends? more than I already have?)

_and a little sad._

(aww... st—)

(it’s okay. we don’t have much time left. but let me ask you a question. do they miss me?)

_And that’s whenever he finally_ does _pull Stan into a hug—he pulls him in and hugs him tightly; hugs him to make up for the two years they were never able to hug. He still smells fresh like soap and his favorite cologne. And Stan hugs him back. He feels him relax; he feels curls and Stan’s sharp nose in the crook of his neck._

(of fucking _course_ they do, man. we _all_ do)

(well, go to them. because they’ll miss _you_ , too)

_And when they finally pull away, he can see that Stan is smiling._

(and Eddie, too. He’s _‘your’_ Eddie, huh?) 

(hahah! shut the fuck up, man) 

_It’s so nice to see a smile on Stan’s face._

(but seriously, go. the window’s closing... I love you, man. say hi to Bill and Mikey for me)

_It’ll be the last time that he gets to see it_

(will do! I love you too, man. so much)

_for a long time._

(see, look—Eddie’s calling for you now)

(“Rich? 

Richie?”)

 

“Richie?” Eddie tries, one more time—and when Richie wakes up this time, he smiles. 

“Well, look who’s _finally_ awake,” Bill says... and he’s smiling, too. 

They’re all crowded around Richie’s hospital bed, all of the Loser’s Club, with bent knees and backs slouching. They’ve brought Richie flowers and energy drinks and balloons—three silver balloons in the shape of a star, a T, and an L, of course for their beloved band. Richie flutters his eyes again (which, for a moment, fills Eddie with an immeasurable panic)... but then he opens them. And when he opens them, he’s grinning. 

“I feel like I got fucking _shot_ ,” Richie says. And then he laughs so hard, he coughs until he’s wincing. 

Mike giggles, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “That’s because you _did_ , silly.”

“Oh,  _did I?_ ” Richie bats his eyelashes; puts his hand over his chest. “Why, I just don’t remember. It’s all a blur.”

Eddie will admit, it is good to see Richie in his usual good spirits—and in such lucidity, when he’s not doped up on his pain medicine. Despite him being in the hospital, with all of these cords and tubes and wires coming out of his arms and chest, he’s still able to joke and smile. And that helps everybody to be able to breathe a sigh of relief. He really _will_ be okay. 

Right after the paramedics came, they loaded Richie up in the ambulance and brought him to Derry Home Hospital. And they were even nice enough to let Eddie ride along. Then came the phone calls that Eddie had to make. He called Bill first, and then Mike, and then Ben and Bev—and they all came rushing to the hospital as fast as they could. Bill had been crying. And he had been inconsolable 

(“I-I ca-cant lose them b-b-both”)

until Eddie had calmed him down.

And, _oh,_ how telling McKenzie had been terrible.

But despite all this:

Richie’s eyes flicker with something happy and sweet as they scan around the room, landing on each of his friends’ faces. And then, he looks straight at Eddie. He smiles, grins from ear-to-ear, and chirps: “Eddie Spaghetti! C’mere, c’mere, _c’mere_!”

Whenever he does, Richie pulls him into a hug as best as he can (Eddie being extremely cautious not to pull on any of the wires and cords), and gives him a couple of kisses on the lips. “I missed you.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. “I’ve been here pretty much the whole time. Except when I’ve had to go work.”

“But I don’t even remember the past couple of days!” Richie fake-whines. “Hence why I’ve missed you. Wahhhh! _Eddie!_ ”

And he goes on with his theatrics (which admittedly, again, Eddie is ecstatic that he even feels good enough to perform), until a pretty girl with scrubs knocks on the door, before letting herself in. 

“Hi, guys!” she smiles, her teeth gleaming. 

Richie smiles back. “Hiya!”

The pretty girl almost doubles back in surprise when she hears his voice—but then, her grin sprouts back on her face. “Hey, Richie. It’s so nice to see you awake. How do you pronounce your last name?”

“Toe-ziay,” Richie says, without missing a beat. He’s got on a believable accent. “It’s French, my dear.”

“Don’t listen to his dumb ass,” Eddie tells her. “It’s Toe-scher.”

The pretty girl laughs a little too hard and a little too long for Eddie’s liking. “Well, Mr. Tozier, I’m just here to take another set of vitals. Okay?”

“Okay!”

Eddie sits back down, next to Bev and Mike, and gives the nursing assistant room to do her job. He feels a panicky voice, sounding painfully familiar, rising up in him

(well? what’s his blood pressure? what’re his respirations? is everything in range?)

that he’s able to squash down.

“How has he been while I’ve been at work?” Eddie asks the Losers—which is a _great_ distraction from the way the NA is looking at Richie; a look that brings up uncharacteristic feelings of jealousy in him. 

“He’s been okay,” Bill assures him. “Really sleepy, though.”

“I think it’s all that medicine,” Bev adds. 

“Me too. And don’t tell him we told you this,” Bill continues, “but I think he’s been having nightmares.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows. “Nightmares? What makes you say that?”

Bill falters first a bit. “He’s been... uh, what’s the right word...”

“Whimpering?” Mike and Ben offer together.

“Yeah. He’s been whimpering in his sleep. And crying a little, too.”

Eddie frowns. He already feels the hot stinging of tears in his eyes—and _another_ thought randomly sprouts up

(I wish it would’ve been me instead)

that he’s able to squash down, too.

* * *

The doctors say that Richie is recovering beautifully. After a few more days (and bumping him down to a milder pain medicine), they’re able to remove his chest tube as well as take out his IV. And as soon as that happens, Richie is practically bouncing up and down in bed, chattering away.

“Help me, guys!” he’s saying. “Help me up! My tests are great, Physical Therapy’s been great, the wound’s healing great. Dr. Fetemi said that if I get up and walk, and I walk okay, then I can go home. So help me up! Let’s go walkin’!”

Ben and Mike get on other side of Richie and help him walk around the unit floor—and the doctor must be onto something; the wound acts up a little when he walks, but he walks just fine. Everybody is pleased, including Dr. Fetemi—who Eddie learns is a handsome, dark-skinned doctor with bright, brown eyes. He puts in a discharge order for Richie, and finally, maybe, they can all put this whirlwind of the last few months behind them, and move on.

Richie’s sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, and Eddie is actually amused to see him dressed down for a change. He’s natural, with no makeup on; he’s got on a white t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. He’s grinning at Eddie in that way he loves to do. “Look what I got to keep,” he says.

And whenever he holds up a bundled up, torn-up piece of fabric, Eddie really hopes it isn’t what he thinks it is. He’s pretty sure it is, but he asks anyway. “Don’t tell me it’s that Nirvana shirt.”

“It _is_ that Nirvana shirt!” Richie exclaims, and he laughs. “Bill said the blood just wouldn’t come outta this son of a bitch.”

Eddie grimaces. “So why’d you wanna _keep_ it?”

“I wanna frame it. Put it on the wall like: ‘Hey, I got shot!’ It’ll be a cool memento. Like Jackie Kennedy’s suit.”

But Richie gets discharged and they load up in Mike’s truck, blood-stained Nirvana shirt and all, and they take one step farther into moving on from it all. Richie winces a bit walking up all the steps to his apartment—but other than that, he’s still all smiles. And when him and all the Loser’s Club make it into the apartment is when Richie decides to speak up again... but this time it isn’t all that joking.

“I had the weirdest dream,” he starts—and starts to open his mouth to say something else, but it seems like he stops himself. “Well, I _think_ it was weird, anyway. Can’t remember what it is.” 

Nobody questions him on it.

 

And then they come full circle: Eddie is watching the yellow and orange hues of the sunset creep through Richie’s blinds—and the latter seems to be in extremely good spirits. He’s smiling and laughing and chattering away—and whatever weird dream he said he had, apparently doesn’t bother him anymore. He’s rambling to Eddie about not remembering the ride to the hospital, how nasty the hospital food was (“But it’s _food_ , so I’ll eat it with pleasure, of course); how little he remembers. Eddie had bought a bunch of things for Richie when he was hospitalized, but decided against it (because it was overkill), and he left the bag of things in his car. But now, he pulls out the bag, and gently and neatly sits it in between the two of them. 

“This is for you,” Eddie tells him—and Richie seems more than amused.

“Aww! You made me a _care package,_ honeybun?” He’s teasing, but he’s actually pulling out the contents of the bag and examining them. “Ohh, what’s this? A heated blanket?”

“You’re close. It’s a _weighted_ blanket.”

“Hm,” Richie says, shuffling the weight of the blanket from his left hand to his right. “How do I use it? What do I do with it? Just like—”

But Eddie grins when he cuts him off. “—cuddle with it when I’m not here, and pretend it’s me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie: Stan said hi!


	12. a prin[ce]ss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to.... toby’s late night uploads.... we finishin this thang
> 
> i love these damn kids just imagining rich and eds being able to be married w children in general just warms my heart

The magic after the tragic really comes to a head right after Richie’s birthday—right after the fight, the shot, the whirlwind of emotions. The physical and metaphorical running away [to the moon]. Things were starting to go back to normal then: both Eddie and Richie are able to go back to work; Ben and Bev and Audra are all in the camp of wanting to move to a bigger house. Eddie got to see Maria home. And Bill and Mike don’t have to worry anymore. It’s all going according to plan.

_But:_

Richie is sitting in the same seats that he and Eddie had their first conversation in at Dixie’s (well, it’s really Eddie’s seat—but who’s keeping track?) whenever the man comes in and notices him. He sits down in those seats next to Richie, and they strike up a conversation. Naturally, Eddie is curious

(is that a lawyer? does my ma know him?)

on what it could be about.

Nothing too bad, apparently—because then, Richie is smiling and nodding and jumping up and down in his seat. It’s to the point where even Dottie comes over with a head-tilt, with an inquisitive look in her eyes.

“Well, yeah, that sounds great to me,” Richie is saying, “but I gotta talk to all my friends first, and my boyfriend, and see how they feel.”

“Are they all in the band?” the man asks. He’s smiling; he’s actually pleasant.

Even despite all of the mixed-up emotions that happened before and during the fight 

(“he can help us with vocals but he can’t do... _that_ ”)

Richie doesn’t even falter in his answer. He grins and says: “Yeah!”

The actually-pleasant man smiles again—and Eddie is surprised, oddly, to find nothing sinister or disingenuous about that smile. He reaches into one of his very expensive suit pockets and lightly placed something in Richie’s hand. “Well, talk to them and tell me how they feel about it,” he’s saying, “and maybe we can all meet up and come up with a plan together?” 

“Sounds _great,_ ” Richie says.

And they’re done.

 

“That dude was talking about _signing us,_ ” Richie is telling the rest of the Losers; his hair is hovering around his head in light waves. “And I think he was serious.”

“What if he’s a hack?” Bev asks. She’s in a red dress, chewing cinnamon gum, and her shoes match. Ben and Mike look over at her, then each other, and share a laugh.

“But what if he’s _not?_ ” Ben teases.

Bill is the one to speak up. Subconsciously, with things like this, it seems like everybody in the group either looks to Richie or Bill. “I did some research on the guy and he seems legit,” he tells his friends—and the light and nonchalant way he says it puts his friends at ease. He smiles. “I say let’s do it.”

So they do.

* * *

So, the guy actually _is_ worth his salt. He signs them over to a record deal. And it’s the first time, the first _real_ time, that they’re Stan’s Star Crossed Losers. And it’s the first time that most of them have ever seen the world outside of Maine.

It’s amazing. 

Eddie remembers when they all had to go and tell their families—and he gets a sick sense of sadness that he’s not able to share this success with his mother. But then he remembers 

_(you shot my man you fucking bitch)_

all of the terrible things she’s ever said, all the terrible things she’s ever done 

(she _slapped_ me?)

[hard across the face]

and that sick sadness vanishes completely. 

He remembers Bill’s parents flashing him a little bit of a smile and not much else, and he wondered what that was about; he remembers Mike’s mom hugging him tight and telling him _Be careful, Mikey, be careful out here, remember you’re a black boy, my baby boy._ Bev’s aunt coolly wishing her farewell. And Ben’s mom having a nervous breakdown—so monumental, that it almost rivals his own mother. 

_You’re going to get your feelings hurt out there, Benny!_ she screamed. _People are so mean to big boys!_

And Eddie remembers Ben’s patient smile as he touched his wailing mother’s hand and said: _But I’m not that guy anymore, Ma._

One of the first places that Grayson (that’s their manager’s name; the guy that initially scouted Richie our in Dixie’s) is wanting to go to record music is New York—and Eddie feels a huge swirl of deja-vu. It’s so bad to the point where he laughs and laughs. It’s so crazy that he left New York to run away—New York, a place that had nothing for him but the girl he made ring pop promises to when they were seven, promises to either get married or to stay Best Friends Forever; a place that gave him no male friends and tear-inducing fights with his Mommy; a place that gave him heartbreak; a place he hated—and he runs right back full circle into the heart of it. All of this 

(“for this guy named Richie!?”)

seems like a fever dream—but crazily enough, he doesn’t really think he wants to wake up. So he doesn’t. 

They go to New York. 

Besides—he thinks he’s got a nursing school graduation to attend to.

[“for my very bestest friend.”]

because she 

because she 

because she

 

 

 

 

because she’s always heard the story of how her parents met from Aunt Maria— and it’s always the cut-and dry version; no theatrics like Dad tries to give her. But y’know what? Sometimes theatrics are fun; sometimes they make you play rock, paper, scissors. Make you melt on the floor. Sometimes they make you fall in love. 

“I still think that maybe they were talking before he went up there,” Aunt Maria says a lot—and a big, gossipy grin always spreads across her face. “Like, ‘it’s okay that I have to run away to Maine, because I have a _boyfriend_ there, anyway.”

Sometimes, she imagines that’s how it went. But she _loves_ how it actually goes.

 

Being a celebrity kid is really not the easiest thing—but her Dad and Daddy have really set her up with the best life she could ever have. Amanda takes a lot after her Dad—she loves theatrics and melting to the floor, yeah—but she’s a classical gal, through and through. She plays the piano and the harp and the viola. She’s been playing since she was three or four. Her and her cousin Arielle are not only extremely close—but they’ve been each other’s practice partners and motivation for their whole lives. 

Amanda loves music. But is that a surprise? Her parents are in a _band_. The Toziers live and breathe music. 

Well, except for Roman. He always tries to be the odd one out in everything. 

(loser.) 

That’s not true, though... little ole Roman is happy to be a part of a celebrity family, and even handles the paparazzi well—but Roman _loves_ soccer. And he’s been scouted by all types of major leagues since he was a little boy. 

“Go play on a league,” Amanda always tells him. “What are you, _stupid?_ ”

“What’s the point?” Roman asks her back. “We’re already rich, idiot. Besides, I just wanna play soccer for fun.”

One day, after an afternoon of rigorous training (which she loves actually, especially since Daddy likes it, because Daddy knows best), she finds Roman in their parents’ room, peering over a box. She instantly goes over, ready to put on her Big Sister Voice in an instant, when she stops in her tracks

(is that...?)

at what she sees. 

She whispers at first. “Romeo. What are you doing?”

“Pretty sure our parents named me _Roman,_ ” he quips back—but then his voice drops down to the same whisper. “Come read this.”

It’s a neat little gold-lined album, full of pictures and letters and paper. Amanda carefully takes it from her little brother’s hands and opens it to the cover page. It’s a picture of their Dad and Daddy, when they were probably the age that her and her brother are now. It reads:

_**The Story of Us,** _

_**And how it’s hard not to love you.** _

_**How it’s easy to find the right everything with you,** _

_**And the wrong nothing.** _

_The story of how you treated her as a sister as soon as you met her,_

**And him as a brother when you never got to meet him.**

_**The story of blue-lit faces on a motel roof.** _

_**And how we wanted to name our kids** _

_Roman_ **and Daisy or Aurora or**

**Amanda,**

_**like a Disney princess.** _

_**The story of 99 questions and princes and not knowing any constellations.** _

_**The story of what’s important,** _

_Like Maria’s first day of clinicals,_

_**Arielle graduating high school,** _

**and Stan’s vigil Bill and Mike and I made sophomore year.**

_This is the story of how I ran towards the moon,_

**and you found me!!**

_**And we both ran towards the sun,** _

_**and lived happily ever after.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wahhh i’m actually really sad it’s over! 
> 
> but in all honestly: thank you to everybody who read(s) my work and leaves, or have left, such nice words. it all means a lot to me. i didn’t expect to get so attached to this verse but yet here i am ;; hope you guys enjoyed the ride and thank you so much for sticking around!!


End file.
